Schaduw Wereld
by Theta Serpentis
Summary: Written for a Norsekink prompt. AU. When no one comes to their rescue on Jötunheimr, Loki is forced to lead Thor, Sif, Hogun, Volstagg and Fandral through his secret paths between worlds. To the surprise of his friends: it's a lot more dangerous than they ever suspected. Loki's either very brave or very crazy to travel the Underworld and the Dreamlands.
1. Flight or Fright

**Disclaimer: **Everything recognisable from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, etc, belongs to Marvel and its affiliates and I am neither them, nor making any money off this. Everything recognisable from the writings of H.P. Lovecraft belongs to… whoever it was who inherited ownership from Lovecraft himself. Again, that is not me and I am not making any money off this.

**A/N:** This was written for a prompt at the Norsekink community on Livejournal, for Purplemoon3 (the prompter) who approved my request to fill the prompt in a Lovecraft inspired way. Lovecraft inspired, however, eventually gave way to 'Lovecraft crossover'. For those who found this through the _Thor_ fandom and don't know much about Lovecraft's 'dream cycle' – dreaming as it is referred to in this story only refers to a certain type of dreaming that only some people are capable of, normal people have normal dreams without winding up travelling through completely real alternate dimensions after entering through gates of deep sleep. It's kind of like how only some people can lucid dream or who have shared dreams, except that the world one finds oneself in is not just a dream.

I toned down my plans for this fic a bit after remembering that Hiddles has stated that what Loki saw between universes after attempting to commit suicide by wormhole exacerbated Loki's freak out and caused the behaviour change between _Thor_ and _Avengers_. This is also not the version I originally posted on Livejournal – that was posted bit by bit as I edited it and therefore was riddled with errors of all kinds. Whether or not this becomes an extended version I cannot yet say, but if it is it will barely be so. Hopefully, I shall have the rest edited and up tomorrow so that I can get on with my original writing.

Lastly, for those of you who are neither Dutch nor can read IPA, my sister – a linguistics graduate – and my mother – who is Dutch – helped me draw up a _very rough_ pronunciation guide.

_**Schaduw**_, n. (IPA: /ˈsxaː.dyw/) – Sch*a-dool/duel. Shadow or shade.

_**Geheime**_, adj. (IPA: /ɣəˈɦɛi̯m/) – ge*-heim-(uh). Secret [noun version of this would be Geheim].

_**Verborgen**_, adj. – Ver-boar-gen. Hidden.

_**Wereld,**_ n. (IPA: /ˈʋeːrəlt/) – Veir-old. World.

*Consider the proper pronunciation of the Scottish word Loch. You know that hard guttural sound that makes people who can't say it choke while trying? That'd be it.

* * *

**Prompt**: AU in which Heimdall doesn't open the Bifrost and Odin doesn't show up to save the day. (Was he detained? Did he not get the message? Convenient Odinsleep?) With a cliff stopping further retreat and HORDES of Jotnar at their back, even with the big beasty dead, things aren't looking good for our intrepid heroes. So Loki freaks and as a last resort he opens one of the 'Secret paths' and ushers everyone through it.

So they have escaped Jötunnhiem, but the place they are in now isn't exactly friendly. All kinds of monsters and traps inhabit the shadow world (or whatever author decides to call it), and with one man down, one having an identity crisis, and one with an injured sword-arm things aren't looking good. While Loki is semi-catatonic everyone else starts to realize how ballsy, or just plain insane, Loki is because getting from point A to point B using his secret methods is a hell of a lot more dangerous than they ever suspected.

Bonus:

Everything ends with them spilling out into the middle of a war meeting because Odin thinks they died on Jötunnheim.

Loki is the only one immune to sex pollen (from previous exposure), and has to spend a good deal of time tying up and sitting on his companions until it wears off. Man-eating plant beast.

Volstagg being the only one who likes random creepy shadow world native fruit.

Thor giving catatonic Loki a piggyback ride as they run for their lives. It actually triggers a brotherly memory long enough for Loki to snap out of his funk and help fight. Hugs all around. Thor hugging Loki. Loki hugging Fandral and insisting he can't die on them. Volstagg hugging Hogun. Lots of Hugs.

* * *

**Schaduw Wereld**

**Chapter One: Flight or Fright**

No one was coming.

As Loki stared out from the edge of the cliff, it seemed almost as if that fact – which echoed hollowly in his head – was the only certain truth in the universe. He could hear the creak of ice as Laufey's soldiers approached, could feel the brush of fabric and metal as his companions moved closer together, but it seemed to come from somewhere far away. Before Loki's eyes, over and over again, flashed only the memory of the Ӕsir guard's expression as Loki had turned away – an expression Loki had brushed off at the time, for surely the guard would not be so stupid as to assume _this _was a prank.

No one was coming.

Loki swallowed. Teleportation from one place in a realm to another place in the same realm was all well and good, but even in a safer location it would not be safe enough for Heimdall to open the Bifrost. There were, of course, the natural bridges – the tunnels, the veins of the great tree, through which he had directed the Jötnar thieves – but they opened and closed only at specific points.

Thor looked about ready to raise his hammer; to fight in spite of the hopeless – ridiculous – odds.

Loki shifted, careful not to knock any of his companions over the crumbling cliff edge, and pushed himself forward – toward the front of the group. His arm twitched, slightly, as if the muscles themselves were remembering the change they had undergone the last time he had gotten too close to a Frost Giant.

The mortals had not claimed (in their myths) that when poison fell on Loki's eyes he created earthquakes when he shifted for no reason. It took a mere shift of his foot, digging it into the ground, and then the six of them – and their little piece of cliff – were in freefall.

A moment later, as the six stumbled from the sudden impact, Loki mentally questioned why he had thought brushing aside the veil beneath them and allowing their momentum to carry them through it had been a good idea.

From their left the soft squelching noise of shattered pieces of ice sinking into an unseen mud puddle reached their ears. The muffled tone of it was at odds with how close it must have been.

Sif was the first to regain her balance. Her eyes slowly widened as she took in the nothingness that seemed to surround the small hard path on which they had landed. The path was as black as the nothingness which seemed to surround them on all sides and would have been indistinguishable had it not been for the light – from an unknown source – which faintly illuminated the area directly around them and thus made visible the ever so slight difference in texture between the black path and the black nothingness.

To her left, Sif could see Loki desperately searching through his pockets: no doubt seeking a healing stone for Fandral, who lay – groaning – on the strange black path at the Trickster's feet. The sheer look of desperation and panic on Loki's face, when his search left him with nothing and he had lifted his head to meet her stare, was enough chill her to the bone.

The sheer closeness of quarters they had shared in the moments before the cliff had given way had not altered since their landing and it was a simple matter for Sif to pull out her satchel of healing stones as she and Loki sank down on either side of their dashing friend.

A fine powder was leaking slowly from the satchel.

"It won't be enough," Hogun pointed out, leaning over Sif's shoulders as he did.

Thor looked down at the small chip of healing stone that Sif had pulled out – the only remaining piece that had not been crushed. "It may yet be enough," he argued, "if we can return to Asgard and bring him to the healers with haste." After a pause, the elder prince gave Volstagg an apologetic glance and murmured, "You will just have to bear the wound for now, my friend."

Sif, taking this as permission, pulled back part of Fandral's tunic shirt – unfortunately exacerbating the rip in the cloth – and crushed the last of the healing stones over it, her hand following the simple pattern of movements that would allow the wound to begin healing. Nevertheless, the wound only closed slightly and the bleeding took time to slow to a trickle.

Loki turned away from the circle of friends as the others watched Fandral's eyes flutter open; the younger prince – now that the danger was past – could not help but return his attention to his arm.

A mere moment ago, in the surrounding darkness, he could have sworn the tips of his fingers had been blue again. Loki peered at his limb, trying not to think about what the blue could – did – actually mean, and flicked his fingers. _Pink_. He closed his hand slowly and flicked the fingers open again ...and again, and again. _Pink. Pink. Pink. Blue. Pink._Loki blinked and peered closer at his fingers. No, they were still pink. The momentary blue had been a trick of the unlight.

"Loki?" Thor asked, as he held his brother by the shoulders and gave him a slight shake. "Brother, have you been listening? You must take us back to Asgard now. We _must_get Fandral to the healers."

"Can't," Loki murmured, watching his fingers for further signs of the treacherous blue sneaking across his skin.

"What do you mean _CAN'T_?" Sif exclaimed, wrenching her gaze away from their most grievously wounded comrade as she did. "Loki, we _must_get him to Asgard. You must take us there. NOW."

Thor's large hands closed over Loki's own, making it impossible to see for certain whether the blue had been there at all. "Loki?" the Thunderer murmured. "Loki, what has happened? What ails you? Why can you not help us? Fandral is your closest friend – apart from myself – I know you would not wish him harm."

Loki slowly pulled one of his hands – his good hand, the trustworthy one, the own which would never pretend to be blue – out from under his brother's and pointed vaguely in the direction of the path behind them. "There is a house," he said, slowly, his words betraying the lack of focus in his mind. "Take the path to the house, there is a lady ...it is close enough. She will require payment for the aid."

"Loki?" Sif asked, tentatively.

The Trickster looked back down at the clenched hand his brother held. "We're in the Schaduw Wereld," he murmured. "If I take us back out into the normal world, we will just be back on Jötunheimr and the Bifrost would not be open to us."

Loki returned his attention to his hand, for he could have sworn that he had seen – out of the corner of his eye – a faint touch of blue in his skin once again. He was unaware, thus, of the scrutiny of his brother and the looks of confusion (and alarm) which were traded by Sif and Volstagg.

Hogun, who had moved to examine the route Loki suggested, frowned. "This place is too quiet," he said. "Feet should make noise when one moves – and darkness as solid as walls should not thin as air to pass through."

Loki smiled slightly; as if Hogun had unwittingly made a joke to wish only Loki knew the punch-line. "Nothing muffles sound," he murmured. "There is nothing to fear."

Sif frowned at him. "But if the blackness is nothing and there is _nothing_to fear…" she trailed off, baffled. Perhaps, she reasoned, she was merely reading too many layers of meaning into Silvertongue's words. Even he was straightforward on occasion.

Thor looked as if he was about to lean over and give his little brother a hug, but Loki suddenly rose to his feet once more, with more grace than one would have expected given his distracted air, and a faraway look in his eyes.

"You should help Fandral," Loki told his brother, apparently unaware – as he did – of how alarmingly vacant he sounded. "I can walk."

_Twitch_ went his fingers. _Pink. Blue. Pink. Pink. Twitch._

Fandral was hoisted to his feet, carried between Thor and Volstagg, as Sif and Hogun fell to the back of their odd troupe and Loki, moving with an odd floating quality to his steps, began to lead them into the nothingness ahead.

It was not long before Hogun noticed that the nothingness seemed to clear away slightly before the Trickster, making visible – if one could call it that – the black path they followed, and seemed almost to nip at their heals as it closed in behind them. The light that came from nowhere, however, never seemed to change and without sounds in the distance, the clank of walking feet or even the occasional scent floating along in the air, it was impossible to tell how far one had travelled …if, indeed, one could trust that one had travelled at all.

It was the sort of time, such a simple journey, when they would usually have told stories or sung (albeit with a great deal of teasing – for Volstagg, in particular, was somewhat tone-deaf), but there was something – something other than the not quite dead weight of Fandral and his slowly reddening shirt – which made the very thought of talking without need seem …risky.

As minutes of walking without change to the strange world became hours – and the only thing that looked at all different, the ice from Jötunheimr, was long lost in the nothingness that crept behind them – each member of the party, except Loki and Fandral, found themselves straining their ears for sound in the distance but only ever had an unnatural silence for their efforts.

Sight, also, seemed to have failed them, as with the all encompassing black of nothing, there was only blank nothing to see.

"I had never wished myself blind before this day," Thor murmured, unintentionally causing Hogun to start slightly.

"Why would you wish such a thing now?" Volstagg inquired, trying to shift his grasp on the waning Fandral so that it was more comfortable for the three of them.

"Then I would blame the lack of anything to see on myself and not on emptiness being where things ought to be," the golden prince replied.

There was a soft, faint giggle from ahead. Unless, of course, it was just an imagined noise made to comfort the mind by tricking it into believing that it had the comfort of having heard something.

Sif moved forward, frowning, and murmured to Thor, "I worry for your brother. He is not behaving as he normally would. How are we to make our way if our guide is not thinking clearly?"

"I do not know," Thor replied, with a note of pain clear in his tone.


	2. The Lady

**Disclaimer: **Everything recognisable from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, etc, belongs to Marvel and its affiliates and I am neither them, nor making any money off this. Everything recognisable from the writings of H.P. Lovecraft belongs to… whoever it was who inherited ownership from Lovecraft himself. Again, that is not me and I am not making any money off this.

* * *

**Chapter Two: The Lady**

Nothing was giggling at them.

Hogun had told himself that many times over the course of their long march. _Nothing_ was giggling at them. Nothing was _giggling at them_. That, it seemed, was the problem. Either there was no noise – in which case he was imagining the occasional muffled giggle in the distance ahead, which did not bode well for his sanity – or the nothing was making the noise, which should not have been possible.

The grim warrior shook his head slightly. He was, he had always been, the group's rock – their anchor. All of the others had their flights of behaviour from time to time, but Hogun had always been the stable one. He could not afford to let the stillness and sameness get into his head as it had been. Volstagg was injured, Fandral slowly dying in the arms of their friends, Loki… was odd… and Thor's judgement could never be trusted entirely when his baby brother was in need of help. Hogun could not go to pieces. It would not do.

Nothing was still giggling at them.

Hogun's mouth tightened slightly. In the distance, for lack of a better term, he could see Loki – the only guide they had in this strange world – glancing down at his hand ever few minutes, opening and closing his slender fingers as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world. He had been doing so sporadically for the last three hours. Or, at the very least, what Hogun thought had been three hours. The passage of time was quite immeasurable in the centre of the nothingness.

…The nothingness which was giggling. Nothing shouldn't giggle: it wasn't natural.

"Please tell me that I am not imagining that," Sif said. Her tone, however, made it clear that she would much rather be told that she was imagining it.

"If only footfalls were audible in this accursed place!" Thor exclaimed, his frustration getting the better of him. "Then we would know if what lurks in the darkness were friend or foe."

"Or lunch," Volstagg added, attempting – it would seem – to lighten the mood. The fact that his attempt to smile came out more as a grimace, a grimace that even his large red beard could do nothing to hide, rather undermined the effort.

There was silence as they continued, though the silence had an oddly …considering atmosphere to it. It was almost as if the nothing that surrounded them was trying to decide what to make of their opinions.

There was a strange scuffling noise in the darkness ahead of them and all those able tensed slightly …except Loki, who continued forward in complete obliviousness to what was going on around him. His head was still bowed toward his hand, which twitched almost compulsively.

It was at that moment that a wolf lunged out of the darkness ahead and barrelled directly into Loki.

To the shock and horror of his companions, all of whom were breathing somewhat heavily (although in the case of Fandral it had more to do with the effort any breath now took), Loki did not appear to notice the predator until it started trying to gnaw on his leg. When he finally did realise what was happening, the younger prince merely detached the wolf from his leg and sat down next to it – the hand that twitched so badly coming to rest in the creature's pale brown fur.

Thor was the first to lower his weapon, a weak smile breaking out on his face. "Tis but a pup," he exclaimed, the relief evident in the choked sound of his voice.

Hogun looked at the animal and then around at the all-concealing darkness. "Healthy pups do not attempt to pounce when left alone," he cautioned. "Its parents must be near."

Nothing giggled at them.

It had been doing that a great deal of late.

From the seemingly impenetrable nothingness ahead – whence the puppy had leapt – there came another giggle. It seemed, for once, to be coming closer and soon the form of a young child in a large coat began to make itself clear – yet the darkness still seemed to cover the form, as if it were smoky tentacles caressing the being as it passed them.

Even when the boy stood before them, nearly on top of the oblivious Trickster, he remained slightly veiled in the tentacle-wisps of nothing.

"He could not be more than a hundred years old!" Volstagg exclaimed, although the comment came out somewhat louder than had been his intention. He was shocked by the idea of such a young child running about alone in a place as terrible as that where they stood. He certainly never would have let _his _children run about in such a place if he had the choice.

Privately, Thor agreed with the sentiment – when he and Loki had been about that age their father had shown them the weapons vault and told them the story of the casket, which had begun the chain of events that led Thor and his friends into their current predicament, but he would never have taken them into such a strange and alarming place at that age. After all, even if it wasn't dangerous they almost certainly would have had nightmares.

Thor shook his head at his musings. Nevertheless, he could not help but notice that the little boy even looked somewhat like Loki had at that age, perhaps because they both wore their black hair the same way. Loki's skin had never been quite so pale, though, for where Loki's normal pallor oft was given poetic descriptions of cream or snow, this strange being was simply stark white. Although, on closer inspection, one could see faint marbling to his deathly colouring – and it was not a comforting appearance.

"Are you lost?" the boy, who was still wreathed in tentacles of nothing, inquired.

The brown wolf pup continued to gnaw playfully on Loki – this time, Sif noted, it was attempting to 'eat' the younger prince's arm. Loki, at the very least, seemed to be aware of it; although he did not pay as much attention as Sif would have liked. The vacant behaviour was almost as terrible as the nothingness of the place. A small part of her could not but help wonder if the best way to preserve one's sanity in the nothingness was to notice nothing, as Loki did. If one did not _notice_the strangeness of one's surroundings, surely, one could not be as affected by them.

"We were told to come this way," Thor replied.

The boy looked at them thoughtfully, his blue eyes repeatedly coming to rest on the blood drying over Fandral's chest and the touch of blue – the blue of approaching death – on Fandral's lips.

"You're looking for Mummy," the boy said at last.

"It would seem so," Hogun replied, his tone somehow grimmer than normal.

The wolf pup took that moment to detach itself from Loki, rolled over and – in the space of a mere moment – had morphed into a second little boy (his coat just as black and his skin just as dead-white, but his hair browner and his eyes greener) who stood at equal height to the first.

The twins – for side by side it was obvious they were so – stood facing each other, silently. Then, in perfect – almost eerie – synchronisation, they smiled (and there was a hint of mischief in those smiles that painfully reminded Thor of Loki at that age) and turned their heads to look back at the group of travellers.

"Follow us," the pair chirruped at the same time, in the same tone, and – still acting as one – turned, clasped hands and began to retreat into the nothingness whence they'd came.

For a few moments the silhouetted pair faded from sight, then – without warning – Loki suddenly raised himself to his feet and began to follow after them.

The rest of the group had no choice but to try to hurry after the younger prince and the strange pair.

Soon, however, the all encompassing blackness seemed to break ahead of them – revealing a large, dark building, which might have been encircled by a large fence of black metal like the gate they passed through. The twins stood calmly on the steps that led up to the front door. It was, for all intents and purposes, a very peculiar place to find a grand old house.

"MUMMY!" the little pair chorused; their singsong tone surprisingly innocent sounding in the strange world. "Guess who's come to visit!"

There was the sound of footsteps from inside the house – a sound that made more than one travellers' shoulders slump with sheer, unexpected relief – and then the ornate black door swung open to reveal a surprisingly beautiful woman who wore a gown as pale and unusually tight as the skin of her sons.

The woman tilted her head to the side, causing her long and surprisingly fine golden locks to swish, and smiled somewhat vaguely in the direction of the travellers. "Loki?" she breathed, with one of her slender hands reaching out in front of her – to a place where no one stood.

Loki lifted his head slightly, but gave no other sign of acknowledgment.

The other members of the group shifted uncomfortably. In immediate reaction, the woman jerked her head in their direction. "Who else goes hence?" she asked, clearly surprised and faintly suspicious.

Sif and Hogun traded frowns. Neither was quite comfortable with the woman's strange behaviour.

"You must forgive us, my Lady," Thor began as graciously as possible. "My brother is …strangely affected of late and two of my companions gravely injured. We were told you might be able to help."

The woman extended a hand to each side and allowed each twin to grab one – as the odd trio proceeded down the steps; it seemed almost as if the children were leading their mother.

"I am Sigyn," the woman said when they reached the bottom of the steps. "Introduce yourselves."

Thor opened his mouth to reply, but the two children spoke before he could begin.

"I am Vali," said the boy who had been a wolf.

"I am Narvi," said the boy with the black hair.

The path that had led to the house had been completely obscured by the blackness that crept ever after them and only the vague outline of the large black gates could be seen behind them.

Volstagg, in spite of the great pain of his arm and great weight of his dying friend, could not help but wonder if the longer one remained in this peculiar world the more peculiar one became.

"You are friends of Loki?" the woman inquired once she had come to stand before the Thunderer, her white eyes looking past him.

Thor nodded slowly.

"He would not have led you to me if you were not," the woman said – almost to herself – apparently ignoring Thor's silent response.

"You say there are injuries?" the woman, Sigyn, inquired. She apparently didn't notice any of the incredulous stares directed at her. When she finally noticed the silence, however, she sighed and gestured the boys forward. "We shall discuss payment afterward, then," she murmured.

Vali, the wolf-boy, began to approach Fandral but stopped short at an exclamation from his twin.

"You already have one of those!" Narvi cried, clearly irritated.

To Volstagg, who had children of his own, it was a relief to see that they were capable of separate action – even twins did not naturally behave in such absolute synchronisation as they had previously shown and he had felt the …wrongness of the situation all too keenly as a parent.

Vali rolled his eyes, but walked over to the large red-haired man instead, moved up onto his tiptoes and gently place his little hand on Volstagg's frostbitten arm. To the astonishment of all those watching, the injury simply seemed to fade away. Vali then smiled at him, cheekily, and dashed back over to his mother.

Narvi smiled somewhat smugly and made his way over to Fandral, whose breathing had become increasingly ragged.

Thor looked at the approaching child in concern. Nevertheless, the crown prince and the newly healed warrior leaned down so that the small child would be able to reach Fandral's blood-crusted wound.

It was with baited breath that the travellers watched the wound slowly fade away and the colour which was beginning to return to Fandral's all too pale lips and face.

As soon as the wound had fully faded, Narvi took a step back and eagerly untied the front of his coat so that he could look down at the large gaping wound that newly adorned his little chest. The boy beamed up at them, apparently oblivious to the expressions of utter horror they all wore.

When Fandral finally began to focus again, he caught sight of his wound on the boy's chest and opened and closed his mouth several times in utter shock. There was, although only the little boy could see it, a look of utter despair in Fandral's eyes one that betrayed the existence of the great heart which the great lover kept safely hidden behind his charming and carefree attitude. It was obvious that, had he the choice, he would not have allowed a child to suffer in his stead.

Narvi's grin turned almost wicked for a moment, but then it faded and he dashed back up to stand by his brother. "I bet I can stick a whole candlestick through it!" he exclaimed in delight, poking at the bleeding wound.

There was a soft squishy sound.

Vali glowered at him. "Mine's still bigger!" he exclaimed petulantly, pulling open his own coat as he did.

Although she had fought in many battles, the sight of the little boy's entrails beginning to slide out of his belly made Sif feel the need to vomit. She turned away from the sight, swallowing tightly. She didn't need to look to know her companions were not fairing much better.

There was a squelching sound as part of Vali's digestive track sunk onto the front steps.

Narvi giggled. He seemed to find it funny.

A few similar squishy sounds followed as Vali re-coiled his intestines and returned them to his body, buttoning his coat with care, before the pair of boys joined hands and dashed over to Loki, who was still standing – completely unaffected – at the edge of the group. They seemed to think he would be interested in their newly 'acquired' injuries and squabbled playfully, nudging each other out of the way, for the Trickster's attention.

"Answer the children, please, Loki," Sigyn said, her sweet and gentle tone making it seem almost impossible that she understood what had just happened to her children.

Loki merely blinked.

"DADDY!" the twins called, irritated, tugging on his sleeves.

A strange, strangled noise escaped Thor's throat.

Sigyn turned back in his direction, tilting her beautiful head curiously. "You sound thirsty," she said. "Would you care to come in for something to drink?"

Loki made a noise, it almost sounded like he had been making an affirmative comment; but he continued to stare blankly ahead, which seemed to suggest otherwise.

* * *

It had taken several minutes for the strange procession to make their way into the blandly furnished combination kitchen-dining room and sit around the large table. The twins had held their mother's hands as they re-entered the house, leaving Thor to guide Loki; although he barely seemed to need it – it had mainly been getting him to start walking and to sit when placed by a chair that had required outside assistance.

The walls on the decidedly 'kitchen' side of the room were covered in hanging ropes of herbs and the occasional wicked looking knife, some of which (herbs and knives alike) bore peculiar stains. On the dining room side, however, the walls were adorned with maps that seemed almost three-dimensional.

Sigyn sat with her back to the nearby kitchen fire, her golden hair illuminated in a manner that made it appear to glow, and her sons stood at either side of her, clearly there to wait on her.

It was, surprisingly, Fandral who first spoke. He frowned slightly as it became apparent that the boys were responsible for not only making the herbal tea that they were being offered, but also for placing a cup in their mother's (and, apparently, their _father's_) hands. Then, hesitantly, he asked, "My Lady, please forgive the intrusion, but are you …blind?"

Sigyn smiled, her white eyes – covered by something akin to cataracts, as could only be seen when closer to her – turning to roughly where her guest's voice had come from.

"The first time Loki came to me," she said, her tone fond, "a serpent's venom had burned out his eyes. Silly boy had gone wandering off the path. Yet his were needed more."

Several of her guests froze at that moment, the cups in various stages of being lifted, as they stared at her; almost desperately hoping that she would announce that her previous statement had been a joke.

"Red," Loki mumbled, staring down into his dark, viscous tea. His hand twitched.

"No, brother," Thor said, frowning. "Your eyes are green."

"Are they?" Sigyn murmured, "How pretty."

Hogun had been ignoring the majority of the conversation – as much as one _could_ignore hearing that a friend had once had their eyes burned out – in favour of examining the maps curiously. They seemed, at first glance, to be three different representations of the nine realms – and, apparently, routes between them, but in closer inspection the different 'representations' identified each location by a different name… and paths and settlements were not in the same places very often.

"Do you like them?" Narvi asked, tugging at the scarf that was tightly wrapped around his neck.

Hogun was not certain he wished to know what horrible injury the scarf disguised, though he was quite sure that he had correctly guessed the purpose of the black silk around the boy's neck.

"Daddy made them," Vali added, sounding proud.

"Are they accurate?" Sif asked.

"YES," hissed both twins at once. "Daddy made them."

Volstagg chuckled and teasingly replied, "Well, if _Daddy _made them…" and trailed off as he reached out to take one of the strange, inky black pieces of fruit that had been set on the table for the guests.

Fandral watched in slight apprehension as his friend bit into the fruit. They had been assured it was perfectly edible, but the fact that its juices made it look a bit too much like it was oozing slime made him somewhat squeamish regarding it.

"These maps," Thor asked, "what realms are they of?"

Sigyn laughed, quite prettily. "I am assured that the ones on the furthest left are of the Verborgen Wereld. The outer bark of the great tree, if you prefer."

"Outer bark?" Sif asked.

"Trees have layers," Sigyn replied mildly, "as does the universe. What we call the Verborgen Wereld – the world hidden to those who live here – you would call the normal universe. We are currently in the Schaduw Wereld, and beyond that – the most inner bark – is the Geheime Wereld, the secret world: the Dreamlands."

The travellers exchanged awkward glances, for these places were ones they had never before heard of and the thought of so many places existing without their knowledge (for, although they preferred adventure, they were all well read and well educated) was discomforting.

* * *

_**A/N: **_

**To Lita of Jupiter:** You're quite welcome – I'm afraid getting it here took longer than expected because I decided to finish the fifty-nine chapter Potter fic first. I'm afraid that most of the extension will be minor additions to sentences and occasionally paragraphs and the likelihood of my adding a scene where Loki gets to tie someone up is significantly less than that of my adding any extra scene. I mean, there are a few things that I'd like to add, but I'm not sure if they'll fit or if it'll make the delay I've had in getting to my original work even worse. If I do add extra scenes they'll likely be in the second half. …I'm also trying to figure out if I should use 'spores' or 'pollen' in regard to the fungus. Fungi, after all, don't have pollen… even though the spores can be pollinators …I think I'm just confusing myself now.

**To peppymint: **Thanks – and, again, sorry I took so long with it. I'll try to get the rest edited and up as soon as possible.


	3. You're Always Welcome at Our House

**Disclaimer: **Everything recognisable from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, etc, belongs to Marvel and its affiliates and I am neither them, nor making any money off this. Everything recognisable from the writings of H.P. Lovecraft belongs to… whoever it was who inherited ownership from Lovecraft himself. Again, that is not me and I am not making any money off this. The title of this chapter is entirely the fault of a cheerful song by Shel Silverstein, which is all about murder. I can't say for certain if any of the flowers here mentioned are from the same area as Norse Mythology, but the people who did set, costuming, etc, for the Thor film are said to have decided that the Ӕsir had contact with many human cultures, so I went with meanings appropriate from the language of flowers.

* * *

**Chapter Three: You're Always Welcome At Our House**

Sigyn had insisted upon hearing the entire story of how they had come to travel into the Schaduw Wereld from the very start, so she had withheld further information about the maps while the warriors explained and the twins twirled about the kitchen; preparing a warm meal for everyone.

The bowls of soup they set on the table had a distinctly leathery quality to them, while the bowls themselves were unusually smooth, and the bread – although recognisable _as_ bread – was oddly slick. Even Volstagg, who had found the peculiar 'Unlight' fruits enjoyable, struggled to understand how it could be (according to the twins) Loki's favourite meal. It almost seemed to suggest, disturbingly enough, that any other meal that could have been produced would have been _more _disturbing.

There had been a brief pause in the story when the boys sat down to eat, but once Sigyn had made them put their tongues back in the mouths and stop flinging them across the room everything settled down quite nicely …even if Narvi had needed to be reminded to tie his scarf tighter so the food would go down properly and stop slipping, half-chewed, out the front of this throat.

Finally, however, all the little hiccups had been sorted (such as Loki needing to be started on the motion of eating before simply going through the motions unaided and apparently unaware of what he was doing and the brief mess when Thor had mistakenly put his brothers spoon in the twitching hand which had resulted in a very bad reaction and a lot of twitching) and the story reached its end.

Sigyn made a soft noise of consideration, then lifted a hand into the air and called the set of maps to her. To the surprise of her guests, the collection of maps flew from the walls and settled in her outstretched hand as a single scroll of parchment. This she gently unrolled and set down on the table, amid the many half filled bowls of leathery soup.

When the woman ran her hand along the flattened scroll it suddenly became clear that Loki had made the maps slightly three dimensional so that she could use them. There were three embossed symbols at the very top of the scroll and it was the furthest left of these which she gently tapped.

As her guests leaned forward curiously, lines began to form on the scroll and soon a partially embossed map of Jötunheimr was visible on the scroll. The level of detail was surprising – and, to Hogun, alarming; for he recalled all too well that Laufey had said there were traitors in the house of Odin …and to have made such a map Loki must have travelled extensively across Jötunheimr.

A sidelong glance at Sif showed – from the way her expressive eyes flickered from the map to Loki and back to the map as she began to bite her bottom lip – that she had the same concern.

Sigyn felt around until she found the raised little version of Laufey's castle, then ran her hand along until she reached the approximate place of the Bifrost landing site. "This is where you were?" she inquired.

Thor nodded, then realised that the gesture was pointless and said, "Almost precisely, my Lady."

Sigyn nodded, half to herself. "It explains why he brought you here rather than through the tunnels," she replied. Then she ran her hand back along the route to Laufey's castle and behind it, to a little frozen river which was marked on the map (and which almost seemed to flow) next to which there was a circular symbol of an embossed golden little flower.

When Fandral blinked and took a closer look at where their guest was pointing he realised that it was an apple blossom. He then briefly scanned the rest of the map and noticed an ice-blue lily on the maps of the other realms (which was thus likely Jötunheimr's symbol), a little silver Forget-Me-Not for Helheim, a purple Gerbera (which was probably Midgard), a green Magnolia for what seemed to be Alfheim, a black buttercup (probably Svartalfheim), the pink Asphodel for Nifhelheim, a bronze Dandelion (which seemed to be Vanaheim) and a red peach blossom (likely Muspellheim). Fandral wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know how or why Loki had chosen the symbols he had, although he suspected there were amusing stories behind them.

"This," Sigyn said, pointing to the golden flower symbol by the river, "is the nearest tunnel – the nearest tree vein, or natural Bifrost – between Jötunheimr and any other realm. If this is how they entered, which is most likely as it comes out near your weapons vault, then seeking it out is pointless …they will be guarding it."

Thor frowned – though not only because the map, he could see, was dotted with more than a handful of such flower symbols (albeit in eight different inks and of eight different flowers) all across the icy realm – and put his bread (which squelched) down and leaned forward. "Could we not travel through it, though?" he asked. "If the Jötnar guards are not in the same… world as we, then they can hardly prevent our passage."

Narvi giggled, causing his black silk scarf to look a little damper.

Sigyn smiled sweetly and shook her head. "The tunnels connect realms, the same type of bark on different branches, but they cannot take you from one wereld to another," she explained. "To go through the equivalent tunnel in this wereld, you would still not be in _your _Asgard …and that tunnel is not safe to enter; you could not pass the fungi that lurk in great numbers by its entrance."

"I did not know there were natural forms of the Bifrost," Fandral murmured, somewhat amazed.

Vali gave him a look that not only reminded all present of Loki when he was in a sour mood, but also successfully implied that he thought they were all morons. "Did you think the people who created the Bifrost just pointed it randomly and said 'I really hope there's a planet on the other side'?" he inquired mockingly. "Most people may have forgotten them after the Bifrost was built, but the Bifrost had to be modelled on _something_."

Sigyn, apparently unbothered by her son's lack of manners, reached out and touched the three embossed symbols at the top of the map, tapping them all at once, rather than one by one. In response the scroll suddenly lifted slightly, hovering just above the table, and split into three sets of maps… each hovering a hand's height above each other.

The lowest was clearly the Jötunheimr on which the group of travellers had fought, the second bore the world 'House of Sigyn' clearly in one place and the third was a mystery to them. Stranger still, the scroll – on every level – had separated out into nine separate parchments, each of which seemed to be held at distance from each other by eight strings (per parchment) of various colours which connected them.

It was the nine realms, on three levels, with the stable routes between them, all clearly mapped and visible at a glance.

Sif inhaled sharply. "This is the sort of treasure that heroes would go on great quests for," she breathed, somewhat awed by the idea that Loki had _made_such an item.

"I believe you mean 'go on great quests _to steal_'," Narvi cut in; giving her a shrewd and knowing look that seemed out of place on his young face.

Sif's mouth snapped shut with an audible 'clack'. Her soup rustled in sympathy.

Fandral glanced sidelong at the sympathetic meal, suddenly feeling somewhat ill.

Sigyn reached out and gestured to the lowest level of maps. "This is the Verborgen Wereld," she explained. "The veils between it and the Schaduw Wereld are thin enough that you can open a portal anywhere if you know how, but to reach the Geheime Wereld from the Verborgen Wereld is impossible directly – one must either travel un-bodied (must be an experienced dreamer) or travel first through the Schaduw Wereld which stands between them."

Hogun and Thor both nodded, uselessly, at this – but it seemed Sigyn understood somehow, for she continued.

"Those from Earth call the Geheime Wereld the Dreamlands, for it is the easiest way to reach them," Sigyn murmured. "However they also have been known to call the Schaduw Wereld the 'Underground' of the Dreamlands – which is a misnomer. To go between the Schaduw Wereld and the Geheime Wereld is a simple matter of moving through the veil, just as between the Verborgen and the Schaduw."

"Are there any other levels?" Volstagg asked, curiously.

Sigyn's pretty face darkened and she brushed a lock of her golden hair away from her face. "There is the void," she murmured.

"The… void?" Fandral repeated.

It seemed that all three of their peculiar hosts were uncomfortable with the subject.

"The void," Sigyn began, her tone clearly indicating that she would much rather not explain, "can be reached from any wereld. Any unstable path between realms – any wormhole or Bifrost, natural or unnatural, that is not stable – can bring you there, although there are many other ways." She paused, turning her spoon between her elegant fingers.

Loki's hand twitched.

"Even the most frightening beings in the three werelds are _terrified_ of those that live in the void between universes," she said at last. "There are creatures so terrible that your mind would break just trying to comprehend them. The crawling chaos: Nyarlathotep, the Daemon Sultan whose name none dare speak aloud, Yog-Sothoth, Yig, Fangirls, Shub-Niggurath, Rhan-Tegoth. There are many others without names. The worst of the void, they say, is that it is brightly lit. Sometimes the unknown, the nothingness, is scarier, but not in the void. There everything can be seen; and the imagination cannot shield the mind from the certain reality of it. If you were ever so unfortunate to enter the void, you had best hope you do _not come out __**alive**_."

Someone swallowed loudly; in what was otherwise a tense and utter silence it was impossible to know who it was.

"Right," Fandral finally said; his tone somehow both tight and dazed.

Minutes ticked by in silence after this uncomfortable conversation and soon it became apparent that the only sound was the scrape of metal on ceramic as Loki would bring his empty spoon to his mouth and then draw it along the bottom of his empty bowl again.

Thor reached out gently to still his unseeing brother's hands. He then gave his brother's lover a serious look, which was lost on her, and firmly inquired, "What route would you suggest we take?"

Sigyn smiled at his general direction, clearly relieved by the topic change, tilted her head as she considered the problem. Finally, however, she made a soft 'hmmm' noise and began to speak again. "Time works slightly differently in the Schaduw Wereld than the Verborgen Wereld – but the difference between time in the Verborgen Wereld and the Geheime Wereld is greater still," she stated. "For sake of quickest Verborgen time journey, I would advise travel through the Geheime Wereld …but to enter that place with one's body is sometimes dangerous. Those whose bodies die in the Dreamlands are dead everywhere, for they have no waiting body in the Verborgen Wereld to return to. Of course, those who enter the Geheime Wereld through sleep must always be ware that they will be trapped there if their body dies in the Verborgen Wereld…"

She searched until she found the place on the maps where her home was marked and ran her fingers along the path until they reached the symbol of a little blue flower – attached to which was a half-blue, half-purple, string that ran to the Schaduw Wereld version of Midgard. "I would suggest you follow this path," she said. "It leads to a realm where you can safely re-enter the Verborgen Wereld and call the Bifrost. It is the closest point."

Hogun frowned then pointed to a bog that was marked on the path between Sigyn's house and the tunnel entrance. To his surprise, he could practically feel the chill of the murky water when his finger skimmed the parchment.

"Ah, my Lady," Fandral said noticing Hogun's actions and serious expression. "There appears to be a bog between the two points."

Sigyn laughed merrily. "For you warriors who are used to nothing being impossible to defeat with strength and strategy, I can understand why you would fear it," she replied. "Like your need to breathe, the bog cannot be defeated – and that _does _terrify you – but it is quite passable, nonetheless. Merely beware of white flowers on your way and do not be alarmed by the Non-Euclidean geometries and you will be fine."

She then touched the top of the map once again and the baffling object folded, for lack of a better term, in on itself and returned to being a single, easily rolled, scroll.

Once Thor had accepted and stored the map, as carefully as he could, Sigyn nodded to herself.

"Now there is only the matter of payment, if you prefer to get on your way quickly," the blind woman stated.

The five aware guests traded concerned looks.

"What would you suggest as payment?" Sif asked. "I am afraid we did not take much of worth with us when we went to Jötunheimr."

Sigyn laughed lightly and the twins giggled.

"I never accept payment from the one who has given over an injury for us to pass on, unless they have no others travelling with them," Sigyn stated. "When someone has traded an injury to me and is alone – such as Loki when his eyes were gone – I tell them to pay me back next time they are here. Most do not return. It was how I knew Loki was worth keeping around …when I explained the requirements of payment to be brought on his next visit he not only returned but brought a grander payment than I had expected."

Then, to the surprise of her guests, the blind woman gently reached up and gracefully removed her long golden locks.

Sif's eyes widened. For a moment all was silent; then the shieldmaiden launched herself across her companions in a vain attempt to strangle the younger prince.

Volstagg and Fandral both cried out in shock as they attempted to restrain her. Hogun's eyes widened – he had not seen her this unrestrainedly angry since the time Loki had bet his head and had his lips sewn shut by ill-fated Brokkr (who had ever after regretted bringing the wroth of the Allfather and Allmother down upon him by stupidly accepting a bet with a little boy – a little boy who had not been so easy a target as he had expected).

Thor, meanwhile, protectively pulled Loki away and exclaimed, "What madness is this, friend?"

Vali and Narvi were giggling at the sight.

"MY HAIR!" Sif screeched, quite understandably. "HE _GAVE HER_ **MY HAIR**!"

"Of course," said Sigyn placidly. "I only ever accept payment as coming from one who the client cares deeply for."

Upon hearing that Sif stopped struggling to commit murder and treason in one go; it seemed to be shock more than anything else.

Sigyn tilted her head as she replaced her wig, apparently deep in thought. Then, with alarming accuracy, her hand shot out across the table and pulled Loki forward, out of Thor's grasp. Loki remained almost completely limp as she brought her mouth down on his, yet his hand twitched slightly as if he had the impulse to reach up and puller her closer but not the ability to carry through.

When Sigyn finally released Loki, who was caught by his brother, Fandral spotted what looked like a second row of teeth retreating into her mouth as she pulled away slowly pressed her lips together. In that moment he was certain that whatever had just happened, it certainly hadn't been a kiss.

Loki seemed somehow gaunter than he had a mere minute before and was certainly too light a weight in the Thunderer's arms. For the first time, Thor wondered if there was perhaps a _reason_ that Loki could always eat so much and stay so thin.

Volstagg's mouth trembled slightly as he looked down to his side at the blank face of the now almost skeletally gaunt prince. If it had meant that his friend would not have been left quite so drawn and vacant, he would gladly have retained his own wound. Perhaps, he reasoned, that was why Sigyn insisted on taking payment from someone one cared about.

"Payment accepted," Sigyn said sweetly.


	4. Taking Seed

**Disclaimer: **Everything recognisable from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, etc, belongs to Marvel and its affiliates and I am neither them, nor making any money off this. Everything recognisable from the writings of H.P. Lovecraft belongs to… whoever it was who inherited ownership from Lovecraft himself. Again, that is not me and I am not making any money off this.

**A/N:** Okay, so I lied. There are going to be new scenes in this version that I didn't have in the original on LJ. Not many, though. This chapter was written only because the original prompter requested sex pollen - normally I wouldn't have included such a thing.

* * *

**Chapter Four: Taking Seed**

Fandral shuddered as they passed the large, ornate gates that protected the house of Sigyn, which all the travellers now could see – as they passed – bore strange symbols in what seemed to be some dark, ancient tongue which must have been forgotten for good reason. Fandral could not get the memory of the lady's second – retreating – set of teeth to cease plaguing his mind and the sight of the strange symbols only served to remind him again. He could not deny that Sigyn had been charming and, it seemed, sweet, but the dashing warrior seriously doubted that he would be comfortable kissing any women he did not know for some, hopefully and likely, short time and so he wished dearly to hurry on away from all reminders.

Hogun, on the other hand, seemed greatly interested in the strange symbols and almost determined to commit some of them to memory – most likely, one could assume, so that he could search for them in Asgard's greatest library when they returned home and so that he could, thus, figure out exactly what it was they had been dealing with (and what the younger prince had apparently been mating with).

Sif, however, evidently noticed Fandral's distress, for she nudged Hogun sharply with her boot and jerked her head in the direction they had been advised to take.

As they group began to walk away from the almost ominous black gates, Hogun frowned as he spotted Fandral's slightly hunched shoulders. "Are you well?" the grim warrior inquired, somewhat brusquely.

Fandral's head jerked up as he turned to look at his friend – to his surprise he found that Sif and Volstagg were also watching him with undisguised concern and that Thor kept glancing at him while trying to keep Loki safely on the path and walking.

"I," Fandral began, though he found his mouth oddly dry. He swallowed, causing his moustache to twitch slightly, and nodded slightly a few times – almost as if he was more reassuring himself than his friends.

"You are sure?" Hogun queried sharply.

Fandral managed to smile as they walked. "Such concern, what have I done to warrant it?" he asked in jest and false innocence.

Hogun, however, was having none of it. He stopped walking and turned to face Fandral. "You are our friend," he said shortly, placing a hand firmly on Fandral's shoulder and squeezing slightly. By Hogun's standards it was practically a tackle-hug and – because he knew this – Fandral's eyes were ever so slightly wet as he gently reached up, patted the hand and nodded, blinking quite rapidly as he did.

"Shall we press on, then?" Volstagg asked, trying for his normal cheer.

Almost as if in answer to this, Loki reached out vaguely and pointed in the direction of the path ahead.

There was nothing there.

An awkward silence fell as the group silently began to move forward again, without even the comfort of hearing their own footfalls.

* * *

It had taken a mere hour and a half to make the trip back to their landing point – Hogun had done his best to keep time mentally as they had walked. The path they had been advised to take was beyond it in the opposite direction of Sigyn's house, which they had thankfully left far behind them, but there was no familiarity to the area they had previously been.

The only thing that remained to identify their landing point was a small collection of puddles that had once been the ice or Jötunheimr. As there was no particular temperature, it was not truly possible to tell how fast the ice must have melted and how much time had passed – something which Hogun found vexing, as it made his attempts to estimate the time even more …convoluted.

Hogun had argued, mentally, that since they had been practically dragging Fandral when they went _to_the house of Sigyn it only made sense that without such a dead weight they could move much faster. However, whenever he glanced behind him and Thor – who was guiding, practically carrying, the limp and vacant Trickster – he found that it was difficult to reconcile the facts with the logic: Loki was now slowing them down, so the time should not have been halved. Yet the time was halved, which did not fit with what was actually happening – which in turn meant that the time passing and the events passing were not entirely connected …and that meant that one's senses could not technically be trusted.

Hogun's lips pressed together slightly harder as he strode ahead, next to Fandral, at the head of the group. He had always been the best tracker of the group – it would not do well to let the others know how much the senselessness of their surroundings was bothering him.

They had been walking in amiable, if somewhat concerned, silence for the last hour and a half – the concern for Loki being mostly what kept them silent, for the younger prince seemed strangely weak and thin since the creature Sigyn had taken her payment from him (and Hogun was not fool enough to believe that she was a woman in the normal sense, no matter how she might look). The younger prince himself had finally ceased to twitch, although that was perhaps due to lack of energy, but he remained in a sort of daze and allowed himself to be led quite placidly by his brother. Placid was not something Hogun liked to associate with the younger prince: it simply did not suit him.

Some hours after the group left the small scattering of puddles behind them, Fandral broke the long silence, unintentionally startling Hogun from his thoughts.

"I must say," Fandral began in a teasing tone, which almost covered his own discomfort with the subject, glancing back at the pair of brothers in the middle of their strange procession as he did, "your lady love is quite beautiful, Loki."

In spite of the lack of recognition from the Trickster, the smaller blond warrior chuckled lightly and continued, "Yet I cannot say that I would have dared to court her – between the strangeness and the danger I wonder you dared!"

"Do you hear that, little brother?" Thor asked, looking down at the slumped sibling who nigh well leaned on him as they walked. He had apparently decided to go along with Fandral's ploy to talk at Loki until he began to respond again. "That is quite a compliment coming from Fandral – it is a wonder he wound let anything stop him when a pretty maiden was concerned!"

Volstagg and Fandral both chuckled at this, though Hogun made no actual response – nor did Loki.

Sif merely snorted and rolled her eyes. As she did so she noticed that some parts of the …nothingness that surrounded them seemed to be slightly, well, _thinner_ and – as was her duty as one of those guarding the back of the group – paused to examine the change, just in case it was a threat. The soft noise her dagger made as she unsheathed it was a comfort in the alarmingly quiet world.

"I say, Loki," Volstagg added, catching on. "How old were the boys? One hundred? One-Fifty? They don't seem to be much older than my eldest."

Sif stepped further toward the thinned area, for once glad that her footsteps made no sound – for if it was nothing of consequence the others would not note her brief failure to keep up.

"Svn," Loki mumbled.

This elicited a cry of joy from Thor, who pulled his brother closer – relief at even the barest response all too painfully obvious to those around them.

The air actually seemed to smell sweeter, Sif noticed, as she neared the thinned area. Although it was not so much thinner as it was being pierced. This was actually worthy of attention, for the air throughout the rest of the Schaduw Wereld bore no smell at all.

"Seven?" Volstagg replied, his voice beginning to sound muffled. "They must have grown terribly fast to be only seven years!"

Sif began to lower the knife she had been holding at the ready. She had merely stumbled, as could now see, upon a plant. Its white petals seemed surprisingly delicate and out of place in the dark environment.

"Svn hndrd," Loki mumbled, from somewhere in the distance.

"SEVEN HUNDRED!" Thor cried aloud. "But you would have been three hundred and fifty yourself! Barely becoming a man!"

The boys and their silly yelling, Sif decided as she stepped off the path with flushed face, were not as important as examining the vegetation. The shieldmaiden idly let go of her knife as she moved further from the path – it would be a shame to cut such pretty flowers and leave them unable to survive – and she kicked mildly at the tentacles of nothingness that seemed to touch her …almost as if they were tugging her back to the path.

* * *

As it happened, Sif was not the only one experiencing nothing. Several times as they walked, Volstagg and Thor felt the dark tentacles brush against them… almost as if the nothingness was _poking _them.

Hogun frowned as he glanced back at the group. "Where is Sif?" he asked sharply.

All faces turned toward the road they had taken – but only the long black path and the enclosing nothingness could be seen.

"Does it not normally stay closer to us?" Fandral asked, fighting hard to keep a tremor from his voice. "It nipped at our heels yet now it hangs back away."

Thor frowned darkly. "It has not been a foe to us so far, for all that it is disturbing," he argued. Then, apparently having decided something, he gently let go of his brother and began striding toward the other end of visible path.

"Where are you going?" Hogun asked sharply.

"It has stayed a certain distance around us all this time," Thor replied, still stalking forward. "It stands to reason that it has not engulfed Sif and then the place it begins again is where she left the path."

"Path?" Loki mumbled, unintentionally voicing the fear that Volstagg, Fandral and Hogun all felt.

"If it has not engulfed her and she is not visible then she must have left the path," Thor stated, with a dark tone to his voice. When he had reached the other wall of nothingness, the Thunderer found that the nothing separated again on one side of the path – and, as he noticed with a cry of triumph, one of Sif's favourite daggers lay on the dark, muddy ground the lack of nothingness had revealed.

Quick glances of alarm were exchanged and the Warriors Three rushed past the younger prince to see what Thor had found. Thor, for his part was stalking through the underbrush – following the trail of footprints – swinging Mjölnir to clear his way and clutching Sif's dropped dagger in his other hand.

Hogun hurried after Thor without hesitation, but Volstagg laid a large hand on Fandral's arm before he could join the hunt for their missing friend.

"We cannot all leave Loki," Volstagg said, quite seriously.

Fandral, who had been examining the footprints, looked up at his friend. "I do not think we need to fear him being carried off," the blond man replied. "Her footprints indicate that she _walked _of her own accord."

Loki was left standing alone on the path, apparently unaware of the Warriors Three having passed him and disappeared off the path in search of their friend, the tentacles of nothingness seeming to cuddle around him. He stared vacantly in the direction they had come, bearing a tiny frown on his downward tilted face.

"Mustn't leave the path," he murmured.

Thor had left a trail of crushed white flowers on his way to find Sif. The ground had become solid not far beyond the first of the muddy footprints, but the path Sif had taken was still fairly obvious.

The sight that met the Warriors Three when they caught up with both Thor and Sif was enough of a shock that they actually paused at the edge of the clearing for a few moments, trying to wrap their minds around it.

Sif stood in the middle of a clearing, next to a large plant-like, yet mushroom-like, fungus – several of the white flower covered tendrils of which were quite literally petting her face and a few others of which were attempting to remove her cloak. There was even one attempting to get between her legs …the most alarming thing, however, was that she didn't seem to mind. The faint giggle – one reminiscent of a young maiden listening to Fandral's flirting – that escaped her as one of the tendrils began trying to free her long dark locks from their high tail only served to make the scene more disturbing. Sif, as a rule, did not giggle.

Thor, on the other hand, was swinging Mjölnir wildly at tendril after tendril as a large number of them tried to drag him toward one of the brackish pools of water around the edge of the clearing.

A bolt of fire passed just over the heads of the Warriors Three and incinerated several of the vines trying to cuddle with Sif.

Fandral and Hogun, whose hair had nearly caught fire as the magical flames had whooshed past their heads, turned in shock to find Loki – still staring vacantly – standing behind them. Blue flames seemed to idly dance across his fingers, although Loki himself seemed quite unaware of it.

A yell from Thor as a pair of tendrils tried to wrench Mjölnir from his grasp brought the trio out of their brief stupor of astonishment and as one they charge in to help their struggling comrade.

It seemed that for every tendril they managed to chop off there was at least another three attempting to pull the four of them into the nearest brackish pool. At one point they actually came close enough to the pool that they could see the small skeleton of a forest creature crumpled in the bottom.

Strangely, for Loki had loosed no further fireballs, smoke was beginning to clog the clearing and while a set of tendrils desperately tried to put out Loki (from whom the smoke was emanating and who they seemed to think was on fire) Hogun could hear what sounded like Sif coughing in the smoke some distance away.

The smoke was beginning to make the clearing invisible and on more than one occasion Volstagg found he had nearly struck a comrade's leg rather than an attacking tendril.

Sif, in the distance, could hardly be seen – she was little more than a silhouette; a silhouette apparently duelling with several persistent vines in between fits of coughing. The exclamation of "GET OFF ME!" that escaped her at one point, however, was impossible to miss.

There was a splash somewhere amid the smoke and for a horrible moment the four who were fighting feared that one of their companions had fallen into the murky water.

In desperation to regain some visibility, Thor began to spin his hammer calling up not just lightning and thunder, but a sudden rain as well.

The smoke did not fully disappear, but it thinned enough for them to see Fandral dragging himself out of one of the watery pits… just as Thor dropped Mjölnir to the ground and one of the lightning bolts which emanated from it struck the other edge of the water, where a group of tendrils appeared to have been planning a co-ordinated attack.

It was Sif's hand that dragged the dashing, and amazingly unlucky yet somehow still living, warrior from the water. Volstagg, however, almost immediately pulled him from her grasp and tossed their comrade over his large shoulder.

Almost immediately, Hogun grasped Sif's forearm and the group began fighting their way back to the edge of the clearing. Every time Sif moved as if to go further into the clearing, even if only to fight off another approaching tendril, the smoke seemed to thicken.

By Fandral had regained consciousness and managed to return to his feet the time the five of them had managed to reach Loki and the route back to the path. They were all double over coughing and the tendrils had retreated in fear of further flames.

Sif's hair was sticking to her face and there was dirt smudged on her arms, though she had been fighting without one of her favourite weapons, so that was perhaps less surprising than it might otherwise have been.

Loki remained vacant-eyed and silent as they retreated to the path and the nothingness curled around them once more, hiding the route they had taken.

To the surprise of everyone present, Loki turned to Fandral and wrapped him in a loose approximation of a hug. "Don't die," he mumbled tonelessly.

It was a disturbing thing to hear but for the majority of the company it was merely a relief that Loki had moved on to sentences, no matter how short, once more.

When Loki finally released Fandral, which had required the flummoxed warrior gently pulling the Trickster's hands off him to get him to start letting go, Thor broke into a wide smile and wrapped his brother in a hug.

It was at that moment that Fandral discovered he was suddenly dry and reasonably clean once more. He stared incredulously at what little of Loki he could actually see (for Thor blocked the majority of the view).

"Why did you leave the path?" Hogun inquired sharply – and the tightening of his grip on Sif's arm was the only sign that the nothingness was beginning to get to him. Luckily for Hogun, no one seemed to realise this.

Sif opened her mouth, but then closed it again. At the time it had seemed the most natural thing in the world to follow the sweet smell, but in hindsight she couldn't understand why she had been foolish enough to do it.

"We were explicitly warned against white flowers," Hogun added darkly.

"Not her fault," a quiet voice broke in.

The warriors turned as one to stare at what little of Loki's face was visible from where it was squished between his brother's arm and his brother's chest.

"Need to keep going," Loki added, still toneless.

"Brother," Thor murmured. "You must explain."

"Keep going first," Loki stated.

Thor glanced around at his companions and, at a nod from the recently electrocuted Fandral (whose hair was still sticking up oddly), he said, "Then we shall walk and talk."

Hogun retained his grip on Sif's arm as they began to walk again, even as Thor quietly passed the shieldmaiden her dagger.

"Well?" Sif snapped as Loki failed to speak up again some minutes after they began to move.

"Parasite," Loki said quietly, staring down at his hand once more. Finally, however, he looked up on his own accord.

He was apparently completely unaware of the incredulous expressions this statement had resulted in, but he continued nonetheless. "The flowers release scented pollen. Doesn't affect males - meant for females …any species …induces mating instincts, overrides normal thinking."

It was Volstagg who asked the obvious question, "_Why_?" However, something in his tone suggested that he suspected the correct answer and dreaded it.

This was immediately followed by Fandral, struggling to make sense of what he had just been told, blurting out "_Pollen _for…?" in near disbelief.

Loki seemed to lean closer to his brother as he replied, "Mobile pollinators. Under the influence of the flowers females don't struggle when they are made to carry pollen."

Sif, still held by Hogun as they walked, was beginning to look very pale. "Made to carry pollen," she repeated, starting to feel ill.

Loki seemed to nod slightly. "Infested with parasite and pollen the female gets released – under the parasite's control, she seeks out every new fungus of the species she can, exchanges some pollen and moves on."

Sif swallowed.

Out of a strange sort of respect for the situation, neither Thor nor the Warriors Three interrupted.

"And then?" Sif asked, not entirely certain she wanted to know.

"Death between fungi leaves it to be eaten," Loki mumbled in his unsettling monotone. "If it's within the grasp of a fungus results in the female corpse being put in a digestive pool… as any wandering males are."

That time it was Thor who swallowed, realising fully exactly why those vines had been so eager to drown him and his comrades.

"And the smoke?" Hogun asked sharply, nodding to the small trails of it still emanating from the Trickster's hands.

"Fight or flight can override the mating instinct if the host female has yet to be pollinated," Loki murmured, turning his attention to his hand once more. He flexed his fingers as if he expected some change to occur as they moved, but nothing happened. "If it had succeeded in removing your garments, or had succeeded in slipping a tendril inside them – which we know it did not because you are yourself again – it would have almost certainly been too late to help you."

Sif wrenched her arm out of Hogun's grasp, ignoring the cuts that formed from his fingernails, took several steps over to the edge of the path and promptly threw up. A flush of embarrassment stained her cheeks as she noticed her male companions staring at her.


	5. Nothing to Fear

**Disclaimer: **Everything recognisable from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, etc, belongs to Marvel and its affiliates and I am neither them, nor making any money off this. Everything recognisable from the writings of H.P. Lovecraft belongs to… whoever it was who inherited ownership from Lovecraft himself. Again, that is not me and I am not making any money off this.

* * *

**Chapter Five: Nothing to Fear**

It did not take long for them to leave the stench of vomit behind them, if only because the nothingness seemed to hang even closer to them and forced them to practically walk into it as they moved forward, although it never allowed them to pass through to the other side (if there even was one).

Quietly, as they walked, Volstagg leaned over and gently murmured, "If you need someone to talk to, my Lady, I am here."

"Why would I want to talk to you?" Sif snapped. "I'm fine!" This, however, she regretted almost immediately, as she saw the hurt in Volstagg's pale eyes.

It seemed that the only thing preventing the large man from wringing his hands with anxiety as they walked was the fact that he was the one holding the map. "I just meant… that is to say… I, uh…" he tried to reply, stumbling over his words due to hurt, embarrassment and discomfort. Then he sighed, his shoulders sinking slightly.

Sif watched him in concern, batting a lock of hair away from her face as she did.

"When we return to Asgard," he said at last, tilting his head slightly for a moment and aborting a shrug: a clear indicator that although he was trying very hard he was still discomfited by the conversation, "you may want to talk to my wife – the situation was not the same; but when we first met she was receiving …pressing unwanted attentions."

Sif was silent, unsure how to react. She thought of Volstagg's beloved Gná – whose duty it was to run errands for Queen Frigga, both in Asgard and in other realms, and whose trusted steed was the flying, sea-treading Hófvarpnir (who, in turn, was the dearest friend of Sleipnir and half the living proof that horses find great joy in causing mischief). It was strange to her to think that such a brave woman, who was on missions away from home and _alone_ as often as her husband, had also once been in the position of damsel in distress.

"I do not need your pity, my friend," Sif said at last.

"Then it is good that you do not have it," Volstagg stated. "You have my sympathy – and that of Gná, should you wish it."

"I do not think that you can understand, no matter how good your intentions may be," Sif replied, pulling her cloak tighter around her as she did.

Volstagg ran his fingers awkwardly along his long beard and sighed again. "I have daughters, Lady Sif," he murmured, "and the thought of such a thing happening to them…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "It terrifies me more than any injury or ignoble death."

Sif glanced at him, wide eyed.

Volstagg, it seemed, saw this, for he glanced down and awkwardly mumbled, "I merely meant that if there was anything I could do to help I would oblige."

"I think," Sif said slowly, "I just want to stop talking about it."

Volstagg dipped his head in silent acknowledgement and respect for her wish, but as the hours of silent walking wore on Sif could not help but notice that all of her companions – save vacant Loki – kept casting her worried looks.

* * *

_It was easier for them,_ Sif thought bitterly as they walked, _they **merely** would have been eaten_. She shivered slightly and pulled her cloak closer to her body. Although she knew, logically, that she had long since ceased to be affected by the spores and that they had left the fungus-creature far behind them, she still felt as if she could feel its tendrils tugging at her and trying to make their way between her legs. At times she could swear she saw vague shapes, faint vines, out of the corner of her eyes, but as they had been walking for a good six hours (as best she could count) in the nothingness since the battle she tried to tell herself that it was mere exhaustion. After all, they had been in the Schaduw Wereld for at least twelve hours by then and that was _after _a battle on Jötunheimr and getting up early for the botched coronation.

Volstagg, who was still walking next to her, examined the map-scroll he had been charged with reading and looked around at the surrounding nothing. "We should have passed landmarks by now," he said thoughtfully. "Either we are almost on top of the bog or we have been walking far slower than we thought ...and that is assuming the landmarks still exist somewhere beyond this blackness."

"We should stop for food and rest soon, regardless," Thor stated seriously.

Volstagg flashed him an attempt at a cheerful smile. "Now that is an idea I can get behind!" he exclaimed in an approximation of joviality.

"I do not want to sleep," Sif murmured, glancing back at the nothing that covered their path.

Loki had tilted his head slightly to the side, finally looking away from his arm and twitching fingers again. "Rest here," he finally mumbled.

Sif winced slightly, for she would have preferred to continue and get as far away as possible. As foolish as it was for one of Asgard's best warriors, she did not think she would feel truly safe again until they had returned to their own realm and their own world.

Nevertheless, she aided in the making of 'camp' – if it could so be called that when they had taken no sleeping gear and Loki refused to allow a fire to be made. Dinner consisted of dried meats and fresh fruits that Vali and Narvi had supplied for them before they left the house of Sigyn.

They had not expected a battle to drain their energy and the journey was expected to be quick, so the rations were small. Even so, Sif could not bring herself to do more than pick listlessly at her meat. She did not particularly want to touch the inky black fruit – Loki had mentioned that her …attacker had been a fungus, not a plant, but it had been so plant-like that she found it difficult to be comfortable with ingesting the fruit. As ridiculous as it sounded, even inside her head, since the plant-like fungus had wanted to put something inside her and fruit was also technically a pollinator… she just wasn't comfortable.

Fandral frowned at her, with a trail of fruit-ooze sliding down the side of his chin. "Are you not eating, Sif?" he asked quietly, concern clear in his tone.

Sif blinked at him. She knew her friend well enough that she would not expect him to be callous regarding what had happened, but for Fandral the Dashing to be one of those most keenly aware of her continued discomfort and so honestly sympathetic was unexpected. It was a pleasant surprise.

Sif ate her share of dried meats without really tasting them, but when she lay down to take her turn sleeping she found it quite impossible. It seemed ridiculous to try and sleep when the light was just as bright (and just as sourceless) as it had always been. How anything could sleep with such light was a mystery to her.

No matter how much time passed and no matter how far they had travelled, the light remained exactly the same as it had been when they landed. The only respite from the sameness of it all had come in Sigyn's halls and in the smoke Loki had created.

Sif did not want to sleep: she did not want to think of what might happen if they had camped out too close to another one of the fungi.

Oddly, the first pair on watch were Loki and Hogun – but Loki was considered the best option for first watch (for he knew the area best, regardless of his vacant behaviour) and Hogun, for reasons Sif could suspect (although she truly and desperately hoped she was wrong), had wanted to speak with Loki privately.

There was something moving by her legs, she realised suddenly, but before she could lash out with a dagger she recognised the younger prince settling in a cross-legged position next to her head.

Hogun was on the other side of the camp, watching the nothingness impassively, and the only other company came in the form of the occasional snore from their sleeping companions.

To Sif's surprise, Loki merely held out one of the inky black fruits. She sat up slowly, looking at him in bafflement.

"It helps," he murmured, simply.

Sif held her cloak, which she had been using as both blanket and mattress, slightly tighter around her, but whispered, "Helps with what?" anyway.

Loki's green eyes flickered briefly to her clenched hand and then back up to her face with a knowing – irritating – look in his eyes. He held out the fruit again.

Hesitantly, she reached out and took the inky ration.

"Svaðilfari," the younger prince murmured simply.

"The horse," Sif replied, surprised. It took her a few moments, which she attributed to exhaustion, to realise that Loki's willingness in the situation long past had probably been hinged on the need to protect Asgard from the results of the ridiculous bet and that he had probably not wanted to lay with the animal …all of which was assuming his being caught had ever been part of the plan and not an unfortunate miscalculation.

Still hesitant, Sif brought the inky fruit to her mouth and took a cautious bite. As inky juice oozed down the side of her chin she let out a soft, surprised sound. The taste was far sweeter than she had expected, at once both cool and soothing, and it made her feel both lighter and safer. The fruit had truly peculiar qualities to do such a thing, she decided.

"Sweetened unlight," Loki murmured.

Sif looked at him curiously as she turned the fruit and took another bite. When she had swallowed, and it was clear that Loki would not continue without some incentive, she licked her lips – for the oozing juice was almost as pleasant as the flesh of the fruit – and quietly asked, "Why are you talking now?"

From across the camp Hogun watched them, for he could hear them clearly from where he sat for his watch duty, and ceased with the pretence of paying attention to other things.

Loki shrugged uncomfortably. "Make amends?" he offered.

"For leading us into this place?" Sif asked.

"Would have been slaughtered otherwise," the younger prince pointed out, making no attempt for his usual grace with words.

"For the Jötnar in the weapons vault, then?" Hogun suggested coldly – voicing with characteristic bluntness what Sif had hoped had been a ridiculous suspicion on her part.

Loki tensed. It was, sadly, all the answer Hogun and Sif truly needed to be sure of their suspicions.

"How could you?" Sif hissed, trying still to keep her voice down. "Are you truly so jealous? Is _that_what this ridiculous journey is about?"

"Stop," Hogun said suddenly. When Sif glanced at him in surprise he nodded silently to the Trickster …who was shaking his head violently and scrambling backward. What Hogun's pointed gaze directed her to, however, was Loki's arm …which was twitching compulsively again, a likely sign that he was actually distressed.

"Wasn't ready," Loki mumbled, somehow managing to stagger to his feet as he did. "Wasn't, wasn't. Told father – I did – wouldn't listen, never does. Told him. Wasn't ready."

Hogun's expression, if possible, became even grimmer. "What were you _trying _to do?" he asked.

There was a wild, almost desperate, look in Loki's eyes when he turned – now standing – to face the grim warrior. "Arrogant, doesn't think before he acts," Loki murmured. "Not ready to be king. Does something stupid, then Allfather will wait; remind him to think before acting, put pride after his people. Had to make him do something stupid."

"Loki!" Sif hissed, although she not certain whether she was more shocked or disgusted. "Two guards _died_."

Loki trembled, his hand twitching convulsively, as he turned to look at her. "Timed it perfectly," he …whined was practically the best term for it. "They were late, they're _never_ late. Ran late, still in the room …too late to help them. It wasn't supposed to happen. Not that, not this. Not Jötunheimr… do something stupid but reparable, not start a war. _Never _a war."

"Loki," Hogun began, but he never continued the sentence – he was not sure how to.

Loki paced the edge of the camp, flicking the fingers of his twitching arm with almost alarming speed. "All wrong, all of it. It all went wrong," he mumbled to himself. Suddenly he stilled, pressing his lips together so hard that they went white from the pressure. "Monster," he whispered. "Monsters. They can't get in, though. Not again. Not without me."

Loki closed his eyes tightly silent again for a bleak moment. "Monster," he repeated, with a note of peculiar certainty in his harsh, yet resigned, tone.

The baffling scene ended before its audience of two a mere moment or so later, when Loki's legs gave out and he crashed to his knees, shaking: half with sobs and half with mad, hysterical, laughter.

"How did you do it?" Hogun inquired, unconcerned by the crack his question caused in the drama of the moment. "What defences did you breach with your magic?"

Loki shook his head, staring down at his trembling hands. "No magic," he whispered harshly. "The Jötunheimr-Asgard tunnel – Sigyn showed it to you. It practically leads from their weapons vault to …yours."

"Then they _could_lead more soldiers through it," Sif murmured.

Again Loki shook his head frenetically. "Every time," he gasped out between the baffling mix of chuckles and sobs. "Every time I found a tunnel entrance I warded it – made certain that none who meant harm to Asgard or its people could pass."

"But they did," Hogun pointed out.

Loki shook his head again. "They consider the Casket to be theirs – they believed the vault would have no guards in that moment," he whispered. "_At the time they entered they __**meant no harm**_. I did not think of what would happen if they decided once through to cause harm. But no army or soldier can enter. They would mean harm from the beginning." He made a strangled noise and added, in a bitter and ironical tone, "Thor would have been a better king for the lesson in patience. I meant _no harm_."

Silence reigned supreme for the rest of the first watch and when Thor was woken for the second, he accepted no attempts to explain the state of his brother – choosing instead to hold the younger prince close until he had cried himself to sleep.

* * *

_**A/N: **_

**To mark3232: **As the story in question is both clearly labelled as an AU and diverges very early in the film, thus cannot be "set after", I have to wonder if you have not accidentally sent your review to the wrong story. However, to answer your question… whether or not a film is going to have a sequel does not in any way lessen the "point" of a story. The point of a story is to be a story: l'art pour l'art. Ignoring the fact that you're asking me why I'm writing a sequel fic when this clearly isn't a sequel fic… it's kind of like asking what the point of writing anything is when there's canon to turn to – like asking what the point of any fanfiction is… and if that _is_ what you're asking then I'm a little baffled as to why you have an account on a fanfiction website at all.

But to answer your question: there doesn't _need_ to be a point. Ars gratia artis. It is art for art's sake.

**To skybound2:** That's quite the compliment. Apart from thanking you and turning a colour more appropriate on a fire truck, I'm not sure I know how to reply to that. I hope the additions don't diminish from how much you like it and I'll try to get the rest of the entirety of it up here as soon as I can.

**To Lita of Jupiter: **I hope you like the other new scenes as they appear (and I'm pretty sure now that I shan't be able to resist adding a few more). I'm especially glad you liked things like Hogun and the gate (which I'd imagined during the original writing, but failed to include) and when it would have been too late for Sif (which was meant to clarify what I'd always meant but written somewhat vaguely).


	6. Fear Itself

**Disclaimer: **Everything recognisable from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, etc, belongs to Marvel and its affiliates and I am neither them, nor making any money off this. Everything recognisable from the writings of H.P. Lovecraft belongs to… whoever it was who inherited ownership from Lovecraft himself. Again, that is not me and I am not making any money off this.

* * *

**Chapter Six: Fear Itself**

The events of the …rest (for with no change of light it could not be called a night) had several peculiar results. On the one hand, Hogun had quickly noticed, Thor seemed relieved that they had done something which acted as a catalyst for Loki re-engaging with the world around him. On the other hand, however, Thor was furious with them for making his little brother cry.

Hogun would not have found the situation irritating – if not for his nerves which, for all that he tried to hide it, were badly frayed from the uselessness of his usually trustworthy senses. Worse still, explaining the situation to Thor seemed quite impossible: even if it would not have caused a dangerous rift to form in the group while they trekked through a place where they could not afford to be divided, Loki was always in the way. The Trickster somehow managed to ensure that Thor was never alone with either Sif or Hogun while they packed up their 'camp' and never able to walk beside him alone – that Loki was always also there – and therefore it was impossible to pull the Thunderer aside and quietly tell him what they had learned… if they even dared to, for the suggestion that Loki was responsible for the ruined coronation was sure to go down poorly with his protective elder brother.

In some ways Hogun almost felt bad for Loki – at least, in the moments when he could believe Loki's story, as he knew that it was the course of events that gave the most _logical _explanation for such treachery yet could not help but feel slightly unsure – and it was alarming to think of how crippling the guilt and fear the Trickster carried must be if it had resulted in his detachment from reality when his plan truly ran afoul.

At one point, while they had been in the process of 'breaking camp' or as close to that they could be without a proper camp, Sif had quietly leaned over to Hogun – nodding to the Liesmith's twitching hand as she did – and murmured, "Is it some mortal type madness, do you think? Does he believe there is literally blood on his hands for what his actions have wrought? Must we fear that he shall cause himself further harm?"

They had packed and trekked for near an hour – as far as could be guessed – since then and Hogun still had not answered beyond the frown and slight shrug he had given at first. It would be too much to say for certain that the guilt – which was either a painful truth or the Liesmith's best performance yet – they had seen last night was the _cause _of the younger prince's madness, if madness was not too strong a term, but it seemed to be an alarmingly likely possibility.

For the first time since finding the house of Sigyn, there was a muffled noise from somewhere in the nothingness. It was proof of just how worked up the lot of them had become that they had all, save Loki, immediately reached for their weapons.

"Perhaps it means we are approaching the bog," Fandral suggested, a slight nervousness clear in his tone.

"I've heard bogs make many strange noises," Volstagg replied. "Yet I've never heard one such as _that_. It was a voice, sure as day."

"What day?" Sif asked sarcastically. Then she shook her head. "I am starting to think this bog does not exist."

Loki gave a small huff of a laugh.

Sif turned to him, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"We camped at Bog's Edge last night," the Trickster murmured.

Thor gave a soft cry of surprise. "Impossible!" he exclaimed in what was almost the same breathe. "We would have noticed."

"In this blackness?" Sif replied. "It's a miracle we can see _each other_."

They continued to walk in silence for some time, all but their – mad – guide straining their ears for further sounds. It was somehow a less comfortable journey than it had been before, for although the strain between the brothers and Sif and Hogun remained it was now amplified by the unpleasant realisation that on either side of their narrow path was an invisible marsh filled with unknown plants and unknown beings – beings that murmured just out of hearing distance – which they could neither catch sight of nor defend themselves against.

There was a sudden, insane, laugh from somewhere in the invisible bog.

"There is someone else here," Hogun stated, unaware of the tremor in his tone.

"No one here but us," Loki murmured calmly, turning back to look vaguely at them.

After a moment, in which Hogun watched Loki's face suspiciously for signs of deceit (although it was rather pointless with the Liesmith), the path wobbled.

Sif cried out in surprise and jerked out an arm to steady herself. The others, excluding Loki: who seemed to flow naturally with the movement even though he stood still, did not fare much better.

"The path is built through the marsh," Loki murmured as the trembling faded away. He looked calmly at Hogun and there was something in the look of his eye and lilt in his voice that implied that his next words were meant more for the grim warrior than anyone else, "With the soft ground beneath it, even the straightest of paths can sometimes… wobble."

A few steps behind them, Sif's eyes widened. She, like Hogun, was keenly aware that Loki was referring not to the bog, but to _himself_.

"And the voices?" Hogun asked sharply.

"It's just …the bog," Loki murmured slowly, seeming almost to pause between every word, although the breath in the middle was certainly the longest.

"Didn't the Lady Sigyn say something about this?" Fandral asked as they, slowly, began to move again.

"She said the bog was undefeatable," Thor stated quietly. "She also said it was passable."

These words, from their leader, seemed to bring comfort to the entire group for soon they were moving again at a good pace – although occasionally bothered by indecipherable whispers from the distance – and between Fandral and Volstagg's attempts to keep Loki from hunkering down inside his mind again and the information they managed to squeeze from the Trickster the next few hours were almost a pleasant walk …at least when they could pretend they were not walking blindly through dangers unknown and that the faint whispers were merely the shifting of quagmire.

Through the efforts of Fandral and Volstagg, Loki was convinced to tell – albeit without true interest in what he was saying – the story of where the strange world names had come from. The younger prince had spoken at length of a dream explorer from Midgard – someone who had been called 'from the stars' – who had travelled extensively throughout the Geheime Wereld and the Schaduw Wereld. He spoke of the human dreamer who had ventured further than all the other experienced dreamers – to other realms than Geheime Earth – and whose names for the worlds had remained long after all that was known for certain of the dreamer was that they had been called 'from the stars' but had called a place named Bergen op Zoom their home.

Shortly after that Loki had become slightly more animated as he began to talk, once encouraged – unwittingly – by Fandral, of the time he had gone to Verborgen Earth to visit Bergen op Zoom and see the place 'from the stars' had come from. He had arrived, he'd explained, during a festival called Vastenavond or Carnival – a time when people wore costumes that weren't supposed to be anything in particular, dressed their clock tower up as a person (including giving it arms and a face) and went Dweilen …which apparently meant going from bar to bar drinking, dancing and singing the Carnival songs.

Thor, for his part, was not sure whether he was more relieved to finally know what Loki had been up to the time he'd disappeared for four days (and reappeared half-drunk, with a curtain tied around his shoulders and with his clothes bearing the stench of alcohol) or more alarmed to know that Loki had lost at least seven enchanted daggers in the town during those days and that they were probably _still _on Midgard. As a result, he settled on being exasperated.

The bog laughed insanely again.

Volstagg shuddered slightly and attempted to keep the conversation running – more for the comfort on known voices than anything else. "What of great dreamers from Asgard?" he asked, changing the subject to something which he hoped would not upset Thor as the reminded of Loki's four day previously unexplained disappearance had. "You have yet to speak of any of them."

Loki glanced at him with a slight crease to his brow. "The Ӕsir do not dream," he said simply.

Sif frowned. "But you said you were an experienced dreamer," she stated, once again pushing her hair out of her eyes.

Loki's only reply was a sort of choked huff which could have been either a laugh or a sob, or some strange combination of the two, and for a moment his mouth formed a broken approximation of a wide grin before it closed again and a downturned – bereft – expression took its place.

_Fear_, a voice called helpfully from the bog.

"Ignore it," Loki murmured and continued to walk, his pace somewhat faster.

The others, no longer able to pretend it had not been a definite word, stood tensely for a moment before reluctantly following him – it was, after all, not as if they had any choice in the matter.

Somewhere in the bog a woman cried out.

"What was that?" Sif hissed, mentally trying to tell herself that whatever movement she had just seen in the nothingness had been bog plants and not the tendrils of a fungus – a worry which had not besieged her since eating the unlight fruit during their rest.

"Ignore it," Loki repeated, although his tone was far sharper the second time.

_Traitor_, exclaimed someone – or something – from deep in the blackness of the invisible bog.

Loki blanched.

"That was not nothing, Loki!" Fandral murmured somewhat desperately – he alone, it seemed, had the sense to keep his voice down when unknown others lurked out of sight and played with their minds.

_Enough of this madness, _the bog agreed.

Loki turned back to his companions, his face dark and his voice surprisingly low. "Just keep **walking**," he commanded in a tone as dark as the expression he wore.

_There is nothing to fear _the bog, or whatever was hidden in it, crooned.

Thor, without realising it, began to walk faster.

The bog, or person following them, released the same insane laugh again.

Sif and the Warriors Three glanced at each other, then moved to match the prince's quickened pace.

_But fear itself, _the bog added.

Thor frowned at his brother's back with a dark, worried expression on his face.

_Let them in_ the voice, or voices, cried aloud. _There is nothing to fear_.

"Loki," Thor called in a low, dangerous tone.

"You are afraid of the bog because you cannot defeat it," the Trickster told them, quite bluntly, refusing to look around or slow his pace as he did. "Like the need to breathe, fear and peculiarity cannot be defeated with the tactics of war or sheer brute strength. You are terrified and angry because you are **helpless**, but there is nothing here to harm you. You may be uncomfortable, but you are perfectly safe."

Volstagg stared thoughtfully at the silhouette of the younger prince, who led the group, and suddenly called out, "Is that not what your Lady said? That for those used only to strength and strategy being necessary the bog would be terrifying, yet passable?"

_Traitor, _the bog interrupted.

Loki, ignoring the statement as best he could, glanced over his shoulder and smiled slightly at Volstagg.

"This is madness," Sif stated. "You tell us there is nothing there and yet we can hear it quite clearly."

The bog laughed insanely, although the laugh – now closer – had an almost bitter, broken note to it.

_Answer, _it added.

Hogun snapped.

In a moment he had slipped past Thor and grabbed Loki, spinning the younger prince back around and shaking him roughly by the collar. The path wobbled with the force of the action.

"ANSWER, TRAITOR," the grim warrior yelled. "Who goes hence? More of your Jötnar friends?"

Thor, by that point, had overcome his shock and roughly wrenched Hogun off his brother.

Loki stumbled backward as the path wobbled once again.

"ENOUGH OF THIS MADNESS!" the Thunderer roared. "You DARE dishonour my father's house with Laufey's lies? You DARE pretend MY BROTHER would betray his own people for the friendship of Laufey's monsters?"

_There's nothing to fear, _the bog added helpfully.

"HE LET THEM IN, THOR!" Sif roared right back. "He admitted it last night! His hands twitch with guilt, not terror."

"No," Loki mumbled, pain and panic clear in his voice.

_Fear itself_, the unseen bog crooned.

"Loki may be fond of mischief but that it is absurd!" Fandral cut in. "He would have left us to die on Jötunheimr were he on Laufey's payroll!"

_Nothing to fear _the bog, or bog person, giggled.

Volstagg had been silent, so far, staring at Hogun since the outburst as if he had grown a second head.

"Laufey admitted that there were traitors in the House of Odin," Hogun replied darkly, almost spitting the words.

"LAUFEY?" Thor thundered. "You would believe the king of those monsters over a comrade you have known and trusted for CENTURIES?"

_Fear_, whispered the voices in the bog.

Fandral stepped forward angrily. "Laufey has more reason than anyone to make us fight amongst ourselves, you should know that," he exclaimed. "Or have you taken so much leave from your senses that you do not realise how much easier a conquest Asgard would be if he divided it inside itself first? Can you not see that the FEAR of internal danger would be enough to CREATE that danger?"

"There is nothing to fear but fear itself," Loki murmured.

_But fear itself, _the bog echoed.

Volstagg's brow creased slightly for a moment. "It is repeating us," he said slowly, his eyes gaze locked with Loki's.

The younger prince smiled slightly, standing at the end of the visible path – facing them all with a pained expression on his face.

_There is nothing to fear, _the bog agreed.

"But fear itself," Loki finished.

More voices joined the first bog voice – all starting at different times, an echoing chorus of whispered screams. As the cries of _Nothing to fear_ and _fear itself_ rose and fell they almost seemed to cry out to a beat.

Those who had been arguing had stilled as the …song began, turning to Loki as he whispered along.

_Nothing to fear_.

_Nothing, nothing, nothing._

"There's nothing to fear," murmured the Trickster, practically giggling as he did.

_Nothing to fear, nothing to fear, nothing to fear._

"There's nothing to fear but fear itself," Loki continued, echoed before and after he spoke, like the leader of a peculiar, malicious chant. "There's nothing to fear but fear itself, THERE'S NOTHING TO FEAR BUT FEAR ITSELF."

_Nothing to fear but fear itself,_ the bog agreed again. _Itself, itself, itself …to fear…_

"Non-Euclidean temporal geometry," Loki stated as his echoes died away. "Nothing more than the echo of things we hadn't said or done yet or had said and done some time before."

"Loki," Thor began, his tone faintly disapproving.

"Would you have believed it earlier if I had explained?" Loki inquired plainly. "Some things must be experienced to be believed."

Sif's eyes narrowed – that had _definitely _been a pointed reference to his story. "He admitted to letting them in, Thor," she repeated, quietly this time.

Loki let out an insane, broken and distinctly bitter little laugh. It was the same laugh that had been haunting them throughout their bog-crossing.

There was a pained expression on Thor's face – both uncertain and certainly heartbreaking.

If anyone had been in the correct position to observe at that point, they would have seen that both brothers were silently crying.

"Loki," Thor choked out. "Why?"

The younger prince smiled bleakly at his brother. "My silver tongue does not turn to lead so easily," he replied. "Had I wanted us to make it all the way to Jötunheimr you would not have had to interrupt to convince Heimdall."

Thor shook his head slightly.

"You're not perfect, Thor," Loki continued, sounding pained and somehow painfully honest. "You're certainly close, but you're not quite perfect. Not yet." He swallowed another choked sob, or perhaps choked laugh, and tried to explain, "I had to do something. Everyone else was so _blind_, blind to everything but how _wonderful _you were." This last was practically spat, as Loki snarled the words through clenched teeth.

Thor's brows creased and he shook his head slightly again, trying to comprehend where all this sudden venom had come from – trying to convince himself that it had not _always_been there and he too blind to see it.

"I had to show f-father that you weren't ready to be king, not yet," Loki continued. "I had to make you do something stupid, make f... the Allfather realise that you needed to be reminded to be patient, to think before you act! That way when you _were_ready to be king you would be known as a wise king and not a war-monger!"

_Nothing to fear, _the bog murmured in the background.

Thor stared at his brother, struggling to find the right words, "You… goaded me into going to Jötunheimr."

Loki trembled. "I was trying to save you," he murmured at last. "We weren't supposed to get there. No one was supposed to get hurt."

With a wordless cry of fury and pain, for there truly were no words for the moment, Thor lunged forward and shoved his brother.

Loki exhaled loudly as the air was shoved out of him and the last thing Thor saw before his brother disappeared into the nothingness was the look of sheer and utter terror on Loki's pale face.

There was a solid sounding impact noise, then a squelch – as if something had been sucked fully under a particularly viscous liquid – and then silence.


	7. Nothing Matters

**Disclaimer: **Everything recognisable from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, etc, belongs to Marvel and its affiliates and I am neither them, nor making any money off this. Everything recognisable from the writings of H.P. Lovecraft belongs to… whoever it was who inherited ownership from Lovecraft himself. Again, that is not me and I am not making any money off this.

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Nothing Matters**

"Now we don't even have a guide," the grimmest warrior stated.

"HOGUN!" Fandral exclaimed, horrified.

Thor had not dropped his hands yet – he was standing terribly still and _staring _at the place where his brother had disappeared. It seemed he had quite frozen from shock in the few moments that had passed.

Black tentacles of nothingness seemed to swirl and swish – if such a thing was possible, which it really oughtn't to have been – at the point where Loki had disappeared, almost as if the all-encompassing vacuum they had been surrounded by was concentrating on the spot.

Thor's lips parted slightly, the first actual movement he had made since Loki disappeared. "The path," he murmured, sounding quite faint, and stumbled forward – his arms falling somewhat limply to his sides as he did.

The four remaining companions approached Thor and the terribly thick edge of the nothingness, albeit with a fair bit of reluctance on Sif's part – for the unmistakeable movement of the nothing reminded her all too much of her recent experience with the overly familiar fungus.

As the nothingness seemed to move it revealed that the path curved sharply at the point where Loki had stood – at the place where they would have expected that he would have merely stumbled backward the path made a sharp curve which, in turn, made the only straight forward route possible straight into the viscous bog-water which was so thickly blanketed by none-existence at that point.

Volstagg glanced down at the map, guiltily. Sure enough, Loki had clearly marked the change of direction when he had drawn it. The large warrior could not help but wonder if the tragedy would have been averted had he been paying more attention to the map.

"You couldn't have known," Sif murmured to Thor, touching his shoulder tentatively as they looked down at the curved edge of the path.

Thor jerked away from the touch, hunching his shoulders as he did.

Strangely, the nothingness slowly – with another disturbing squelch – began to pull away from the curve point of the path, making the bog itself visible for the first time. The five companions stared down at it with a mix of disgust and morbid curiosity clear upon their features.

The water was practically a solid, from all appearances, apparently – in spite of having ripples – bearing the thick consistency of a finished colloidal gelatine dessert or a particularly dense fruit preserve of a distinctly marbled colouration.

The lightest parts of the viscous liquid – the parts which were furthest from the occasional dark form near the bottom (or what looked like it might be the bottom) or at the very top – had an almost amber hue to them. On the other hand, the areas near the dark shapes seemed to be frozen swirls of a darker colour: a disturbing sangria red which – as it dispersed and changed through carnelian, vermilion and finally carmine pink – gave the impression of blooms of old blood dispersing in the stagnant flow.

The liquid bore a disturbing stench, one which was so terribly strong that it seemed almost impossible that the nothingness had been able to block it so completely.

The small tufts and mounds that permeated the bog also bore an unpleasant odour, but it did not seem quite so awful. It was a strange place to find an abundance of plant life, but every tuft and mound was covered in various grass-like and weed-like flora which bore hues of sickly-looking teal, isabelline, periwinkle and taupe. Many of the grasses were blooming – and the cheerful lemon yellow of the flowers seemed decidedly out of place with the rest of the morbid view.

None of this, however, truly caught the attention of the five Ӕsir travellers – that was focused on the dark shape near the centre of the path-side pool, where there was a froth forming around the shape and a great variety of colours seemed to be seeping into the red, viscous liquid.

From beneath a thick layer of bog-water, with one hand still desperately extended and its fingers stiff mid-claw and with tendrils of nothingness swirling down into the water around him, Loki stared up out of the water …something in his eyes giving the impression that he could still see them, although he was already decomposing.

It took the combined strength of all four of his friends to stop Thor throwing himself into the bog to reach his brother.

Strangely, the desperation in Thor's actions – which he could see were quite pointless, even if he did not allow that to stop him – seemed to cause a reaction in the blackness that had pulled back but not disappeared entirely. The tendrils of nothing hanging around Loki (which really should not have been able to keep existing inside the bog, yet somehow managed to remain a perfect vacuum with the bog held outside of it) suddenly jerked into action once more, sliding around Loki and sucking him back up out of the water.

Although they had never, on all their adventures, stuck around to examine the bodies of the monsters and villains they had slain, when Loki was held in the vacuum of nothingness above the path the stench of putrefaction mixed with that of escaping gases was unmistakable to all five of the travellers. In fact, between them always moving on immediately during quests and after battles and the Ӕsir habit of burning the dead very quickly, none of them had ever really seen a decaying body properly before. It was a sobering sight.

A great deal of Loki was still covered in bog-slime and the nothingness which had surrounded them so long on their journey seemed to be stubbornly sucking it all off – its very nature as a vacuum allowing it to remove the layers of bog water from the late prince.

The nothingness acted with an alarming amount of care – something which seemed to indicate that the blackness might be no_thing_ but it certainly wasn't no _one _– as it peeled Loki's bog-soaked clothing from his cadaver, revealing more and more discolouration (clear and obvious livor mortis and veins in unhealthy hues) of his skin, and as it gently combed through his hair (clumps of which came out when tugged too hard).

Nevertheless, the nature of nothingness – the vacuum – and the subject meant that no matter how careful nothing tried to be, there were occasional cases of skin slippage which detached completely and the outer layers of dermis were tossed unceremoniously into the bog (like Loki's soaked clothes) by the black tentacles. Sometimes, to those watching, the process seemed almost painful, for there would be a flash of some emotion in Loki's eyes – emotions that could not be but were unmistakably _there _– which indicated that Loki could actually feel everything that was happening to his body …and that it hurt.

Tentacles of the vacuum slid their way into every orifice (and, it seemed, all the way into his lungs and stomach by way of his throat) much to the horror of the five shocked adventures watching, carefully sucking away the slime.

When Loki was finally clean, the nothingness launched an assault on the small bags of rations that the travellers carried.

Sif, although she would have liked to deny it and did have a perfectly understandable reason of bad associations for it, actually cried out in terror as the tendrils forced their way into her rations bag.

For a moment it seemed as if there was amusement shining in Loki's eyes.

When the tendrils finally pulled away all of the remaining unlight fruits from the travellers' collective ration bags were being held by the blackness. The inky black fruits – practically invisible within the blackness that held them – were extremely juicy and the nothingness seemed to take advantage of that as it squeezed several for juice and rubbed the fruit ooze onto and into Loki's mouth. Other tendrils used the oozing juice on various parts of Loki's body – including, disgustingly, into nostrils, inside ears which had previously been meticulously cleaned and the underside of eyelids. After a few moments it began to become apparent _why _the nothingness was behaving in a manner so deranged (although, notably, the nothingness had wrapped around Loki's lower half in a bizarre attempt at preserving his modesty).

The inky unlight fruits had many peculiar qualities – amongst them, it could be seen, was a restorative ability which not only stopped the decay from continuing, but also _undid _that which had occurred.

As the rigor mortis began to give way to mild stiffness and the mobility of life, the nothingness began trying to push the squished fruits into Loki's mouth and – again to the shock of the five people standing on the path – ran a tendril upon Loki's throat to induce the swallowing reflex.

In less than a half hour Loki was gently placed back on the path, which had been cleared of dripping bog-slime, as alive and healthy as he had been before he fell into the putrid bog.

However, he was wide eyed and trembling …and the nothingness seemed to pet his cheek slightly, as if in comfort.

Loki mumbled something that sounded decidedly like "Thank you," and shakily pulled a new set of clothes (and boots) out of a pocket dimension.

That time the movement of the nothingness was _unmistakably _a gentle pat on the shoulder.

"You know," Fandral remarked, sounding rather dazed but wearing a wide and cheeky grin, "I think nothing _likes _him."

A tentacle of the nothingness lashed out and slapped him across the face. It was, on account of being a vacuum, not unlike being struck and being pulled by intense suction at the same time.

Fandral rubbed his cheek and warily watched the place where the tentacle of blackness had merged with the rest of the nothingness, in which it had been tethered.

"It understands us?" Sif asked, dumbfounded. "We have been walking with a sentience encircling us the _entire time_?"

There was something in the mix of disbelief and horror in her tone that made Loki smile faintly at her as he dressed – something he could have done in a moment with magic, but which doing physically seemed to give him comfort (in fact, Hogun had the distinct impression that he was repeatedly checking his body for signs of life and merely using the pretence of dressing to cover it).

"If it was malicious surely it would have done something by now," Volstagg replied, watching the younger prince curiously.

Hogun glanced at him with an expression that seemed to suggest that Volstagg was foolish for not assuming the nothingness was merely waiting for the appropriate moment to strike.

"Nothing may be more frightening," Loki mumbled in a tone which bore an alarmingly sing-song quality to it, "but only something is worth fearing."

"That …thing has been driving us insane from lack of sensory input ever since we arrived," Hogun pointed out darkly.

Loki slipped his second boot on and, although he failed to pull off the cool tone he had been aiming for, remarked, "Better that than have travelled unprotected by all the dangers that it blocked out."

One of Sif's dark eyebrows rose in expression of her disturbed and incredulous opinion on that comment.

Thor, however, was frowning darkly at his brother. "We could see your ribs," he stated, his voice coming out as a low growl – not unlike thunder rumbling in the distance, as he nodded toward the thick leather garment in which Loki had dressed himself.

Loki blinked, accepted the last of the fruit from the nothingness, and tilted his head curiously to look at Thor. "You're worrying about me," he stated. There was a strange, wild, glint in his eyes that made it painfully obvious that he was desperately trying _not _to think about what he had just gone through. "Does that mean I'm forgiven?"

Somehow, Thor's expression managed to become darker still. "You're too thin," he replied, stubbornly refusing to allow the subject to be changed.

Loki waved a bony hand in what was clearly supposed to be an idle and unconcerned fashion (but which didn't quite manage to be, most likely due to the slight tremors still running through him). "Sigyn's payment," he tossed out carelessly. "It was just a bit of fat."

"More like most of your muscle mass," Sif stated, with annoyance and what sounded surprisingly like concern in her tone.

"You can't get something for nothing," the Trickster replied. Then he glanced back to his brother and a definite note of fear crept into his voice, quite unbidden. "You still haven't answered my question."

Thor, who had at some point folded his arms without realising it, gave him a pained look and said, "You meant well."

"And you meant nothing at all, I should think," Loki snapped, perhaps unaware of how terrible he looked as his no longer drooping skin and gaunt face moved, "when you nearly condemned me to an eternity as a set of sentient particles in this foul quagmire!" Then, in a tone quieter and somehow more pained, he choked out, "So …perhaps, we can agree that we have both caused each other extensive harm and _call us even_?"

Thor responded to this, surprisingly open, plea by taking three large steps forward and wrapping his younger brother in a tight hug. "I am so sorry, Loki," he said into the thick black hair he was leaning his head upon.

"You might want to be careful," Loki replied. "I'm still a bit rotten."

Thor gave a choked little laugh.

"I meant that literally," Loki added. "It'll take a few hours before I'm completely back to normal."

"Sentient set of particles?" Fandral asked suddenly.

Although he was still tightly wrapped in Thor's arms, it was painfully obvious to all of them when Loki blanched. "Let's just get moving," he said, tilting his head so that his face was more hidden from view by Thor's armoured chest.

"Loki?" Thor murmured, clearly concerned. It was, after all, not without reason: when he had not been completely detached from what was going on around him Loki had been unflappable regarding the strangeness of the Schaduw Wereld – but whatever had happened while he had been …decomposing… had clearly shaken him to the core.

Loki pressed his lips together for a moment, closing his eyes tightly as he did. "We need to keep going," he said at length.

Thor moved so that Loki was no longer impeding his ability to walk, but was still held close next to him, and nodded to the others – a silent order to begin the journey again.

Loki flushed slightly at being held and guided like a young child, but made no attempt to pull away.

"Loki," Thor said as they walked along the sharp turn in the path. "…Should we take a slower pace?"

"I'm fine," Loki replied huffily.

"Do not lie to me, brother," Thor said sternly.

Loki graced him with an expression that was at once both incredulous and wry.

"Not about your health," Thor amended.

Loki snorted as they walked. "You do not want to know," he replied.

"I need to know," Thor argued.

A tiny smirk-like expression flickered across Loki's face for a moment, a bitter mockery of its usual form, and he murmured, "You'll regret it."

"Not as much as I regret what I have done," Thor said firmly. "I need to understand the harm I have caused you."

Loki's expression darkened. "It was the non-Euclidean temporal geometry," he finally admitted, conceding defeat on the matter. "Within the water the body decays faster than it ought but one does not actually _die_."

Thor's eyes widened and he glanced down slightly at his brother.

Behind them all four of their friends' faces grew graver.

"Originally," Loki continued, "thousands of years ago, the water was clean. However, as things occasionally fell in and drowned, because of the peculiar temporal geometry, their bodies decayed and the remaining particles – which had nowhere to go – remained in the water. Eventually, the colour changed from all the organic remains and the water …thickened."

"Thickened?" Sif repeated. "But for it to be that much…" She swallowed.

"I thought you said they didn't die!" Fandral exclaimed.

Loki's face darkened once more and in a deathly cold tone he said, "They _don't_."

When the others slowed their pace in their surprise and confusion, the Trickster glared at them over his shoulder. "We should move faster," he said sharply.

"Brother?" Thor asked; the single word and pained – baffled – tone making clear everything he wanted to know.

"You don't die," Loki murmured. "Your body decays and all that remains is particles of, or in, colloidal liquid – but you _don't die_. They're all still conscious …sentient. Everything that died in that liquid: they're still alive, they're still _thinking_."

Thor pulled his brother slightly closer to him, nodding gratefully to the surrounding nothingness as he did.

Somewhere, deep in the bog, something made a squishing sound as it moved from grassy tuft to grassy tuft.


	8. Looking Up

**Disclaimer: **Everything recognisable from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, etc, belongs to Marvel and its affiliates and I am neither them, nor making any money off this. Everything recognisable from the writings of H.P. Lovecraft belongs to… whoever it was who inherited ownership from Lovecraft himself. Again, that is not me and I am not making any money off this.

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Looking Up**

It had taken an hour and a half for them to leave the bog behind them, and – rather unsurprisingly – the majority of the travellers were still rather shaken by Loki's description of what they had been walking past.

That was, in Hogun's opinion, the most likely reason that they kept thinking they heard some sort of squelching noise in the distance – the nothingness was still encircling them protectively, so the idea that they were actually hearing something seemed unlikely: the bog was too far away for the noise to still reach them through their peculiar protector.

Unlike with most of their adventures, the journey was mostly made in silence – every one of them was too deeply concerned by their own thoughts. After all, even without Loki's horrible descriptions to plague their imaginations, there was the matter of his admission regarding the coronation.

As far as Hogun could tell, both Fandral and Volstagg were still trying to come to terms with the knowledge of what Loki had admitted to – which was understandable, for they had far less time than Sif and Hogun himself to get used to the idea – and were looking at their friend in a whole new light.

A single glance at Sif told Hogun that she was _also_looking at a friend in a whole new light – but she, like Hogun, was looking at Thor. It was painfully clear, as they walked on, that Thor's actions were weighing heavily on her mind. She had begun to worry, judging by the tiny frown that adorned her face every time she glanced at the back of Thor's head for longer than three seconds, that the crown prince might not be as suitable – or ready – for the throne as she had thought. It would indubitably take her some time to come to her conclusions on the matter.

Hogun, however, had already considered the situation carefully and reached a conclusion. Had he chosen to share it with the others, he knew, it would be met with jabs about his pessimism. Nevertheless, he knew – logically – that his conclusion was accurate, not morbid.

Loki was too inclined to complicated, overly-thought-through plans to be a good king for Asgard. That much they had always suspected.

_However,_ his recent actions had proved that Thor was too straightforward and too inclined to act before thinking things through to be a good king for Asgard.

Had Hogun truly been a pessimist, his conclusion would have been something akin to _Asgard is doomed_, but he was not. Asgard was only doom to a poor leader if neither Thor nor Loki learned to be more moderate …or if the Ӕsir could not bring themselves to accept a solution which was not traditional.

Hogun's conclusion was that – if neither prince could learn to be moderate – Asgard would simply have to have two kings sharing power. However, considering the worry that clearly showed on Sif's face, Hogun was the first to come to that conclusion.

In spite of everything, though, Hogun did not think the possibility of two unfit kings working together to be one fit ruler as something that bore enough likelihood to be concerning. The way Loki had begun to open up about things – albeit mainly to Thor – and Thor's slow, beginning efforts to be more careful of consequences (and the way both had begun to admit they had made grave errors of late) seemed to suggest that one, if not both, would learn.

Sometimes Hogun wondered if the others would still call him a pessimist if he explained his logic to them. He doubted that they, except perhaps Loki, would get beyond the reasoning that planning for and expecting the worst meant that things were always better than one had hoped before they decided it was proof that he saw the worst in everything.

Suddenly, Loki spoke up, shaking Hogun from his musings. "Ah," Loki began, sounding almost uncomfortable with the subject. "I know it's highly unlikely that any of you will ever see them again," here he paused, as if searching for the correct words, then continued, "but I would appreciate it if none of you ever mentioned the bog-incident to Sigyn or the boys."

There was an almost incredulous silence from his companions.

Loki shifted awkwardly and extrapolated, "It's just that if Narvi and Vali found out they would both want to try it."

That time there was absolutely no doubt that the silence was an incredulous one.

Volstagg was the first to speak. "Surely," he said, sounding decidedly flummoxed, "their mother would not allow it – being a healer and all?" From the expression he bore, he had not expected his statement to come out a question in the end, but his bafflement had made it one.

Loki burst out laughing, to the surprise of everyone else. "A _healer_?" he echoed, hilarity and surprise clear in the tone. "She is no healer!"

"Her trade is healing, though," Sif stated.

Fandral, however, seemed thoughtful for a moment and then shook his head. "Would she harm someone for payment if she were?" he asked.

Loki smiled tiredly. It was clear that Sigyn's payment, and the unfortunate event which had occurred in the bog, had worn on his energy quite heavily. "She trades in injuries," he elucidated. "She accepts injuries from people – and when someone wants to bring an injury down on someone they go to her for one, which she then gives to them to pass on to their enemy …for a fee, of course."

Sif's eyebrows rose to meet her hairline.

"Do you really think the boys would want to try it, though?" Thor asked, frowning at the thought of his …nephews, he supposed, going through the same pain his brother had.

"Children do stupid things," Loki replied calmly, "especially when they think they can get away with it." Then a mischievous smile crossed his face – a first since before the coronation had started – and he glanced up at Thor, adding, "Do you recall the time when we didn't know yet that when mo… the Allmother said the Allfather could see and hear everything during the Odinsleep she wasn't just trying to be comforting so we decorated his hair with all sorts of braids, glitter and pink ribbons?"

Thor chuckled. "Aye," he agreed, "but your boys are more than a mere thirty years." He walked a few more paces in more cheerful silence, then suddenly frowned and turned back to his brother. "What do you mean 'did not yet know that she _wasn't_just trying to be comforting'?" he asked, both confused and alarmed by what he was fairly certain the answer was going to be.

It was, it seemed, Loki's turn to be confused. "You mean you actually believed her at that point?" he asked, tilting his head to the side and sounding utterly baffled.

A heartbroken expression crossed Thor's face and he stopped in place, turning his younger brother so that they were facing each other. "She was telling the truth, Loki. Why would you have thought otherwise?"

There was a muffled squelch in the distance.

Loki stared at him as if he were an utter moron. "Adults lie to children to make uncomfortable truths easier to handle," he stated factually, his brow creasing as he tried to understand why Thor did not seem to comprehend this basic fact. "They even do it to children who aren't theirs and never seem to realise that something hard to comprehend being explained truthfully at a young age actually hurts _less _than learning that the people you should be able to trust above all others have been lying to you your whole life. It was natural to assume she was simply trying to make it easier for …her offspring."

Thor gently cupped his brother's face with one hand, shaking his head ever so slightly and trying to understand how Loki's thought process could have become so convoluted and cynical at so young an age.

"This… lack of trust," the Thundered asked, "is this why you have not been willing to call our parents 'mother' and 'father' of late: that you feel the need to use titles?"

Loki's eyes widened. Apparently, he had not expected Thor to have noticed.

The Trickster licked his lips and opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

"I am no fool, Loki," Thor murmured.

"What's to become of me?" Loki whispered – it wasn't exactly an appropriate reply and Loki felt as if the dam he had placed in front of his so turbulent emotions might crack at any moment if someone said the wrong thing, but once the words were out there was no taking them back.

"Loki…" Thor began, unsure what to say.

"I _committed treason_, Thor," Loki snapped. "That's not something that can just be brushed aside!"

Surprisingly it was Hogun who – quietly and slowly, almost cautiously – replied. "The Allfather has always considered motive over action," he murmured. "He will take into account that you meant well."

"Oh, yes," Loki drawled, his tone was rife with bitterness and sarcasm. "I'm sure the Allfather will just _brush aside_ two counts of treason, two dead guards and having potentially started a _war_ all because _I meant well." _

There was an awkward pause. …Then a squelch.

"Two counts of treason?" Sif asked sharply.

Loki sighed. "It is expressly forbidden to go to Jötunheimr," he elucidated. "You said so yourself when Thor suggested it – nevertheless, we went to Jötunheimr: that's treason."

"Then we are all guilty of treason," Fandral pointed out.

Almost unheard, Volstagg muttered, "Gná's going to kill me when she finds out."

"You did not start a war," Thor said after a long, thoughtful pause. "If Laufey should decide to declare war that is the choice of Laufey and if he does so then it will be because of my actions when we had the chance to leave."

Loki gave him a somewhat wide eyed look of scepticism and disbelief.

Thor shrugged uncomfortably. "Yours were not the only judgements that must be called into question," he added.

"I should not trust the judgement of either of you," Volstagg told them, interrupting for the sole purpose of trying to end the strain of the situation. "You're both fools if you honestly thought you were going to get away with that pink ribbon incident."

For all that the moment had been a serious one the brothers could not help glancing over at Volstagg in unison, then meeting each others' gaze and – as one – bursting out laughing.

As the group began to move forward again, Thor slung an arm over his brother's shoulders. The Thunderer had always been the type to follow his instincts rather than to carefully weigh each option and most of the time his instincts did not lead him astray. Of course, on the occasions his instincts were wrong they were terribly so – such as expressing his anger with an ill-fated shove that had left Loki rotting alive. However, at that moment – as he slung his arm around Loki and set the pace for their party to walk – he was inclined to follow his instincts as, for all his misgivings, he did love his brother and his instincts were practically screaming: _Hold on tightly or you __**will**__ lose him_.

Nevertheless, it was clear that none of his misgivings or trepidation showed in his face, for Loki did not notice them as he beamed up at his brother (with his eyes betraying just how much this apparent acceptance and forgiveness meant to him).

Fandral frowned slightly at the sight. It was painfully obvious that Loki adored his brother as if the Thunderer was the sun itself. The sight reminded Fandral unpleasantly of one of the stranger comments Loki had made in the bog. _You're not perfect, Thor, _the words echoed darkly in the dashing warrior's mind. _You're certainly close, but you're not quite perfect. Not yet_.

Fandral shook his head. No one – not even him – was perfect. He wondered, as they walked, if perhaps it was how Loki saw himself – a moon, dark and small in its own right, which shone only with the light it reflected from a bright shining sun …and which was mocked for having no light of its own by the planet it helped to brighten and at once hated the planet for its mockery, hated the sun for its light and yet hated itself for having no light and loved the sun for that little it gave away.

It could be, Fandral concluded, that Loki hated and loved Thor and hated himself, but it could also be that Fandral himself was reading too much into sheer relief over forgiveness and joy at acceptance. The last of which would be worrying in its own right, for it implied that Loki was not sure he was welcome and valued in their group – and as Loki was comparatively the modest one Fandral could guess that the eventual tales of their exploits could make it appear that he was not as valued (this, Fandral had always thought, was one of the problems with the tales of exploits being told by whoever could boast the loudest and with least corrections at the feast).

In spite of all appearances and behaviour, Fandral the Dashing did – in fact – have the mind of a grand poet or philosopher. He merely preferred not to use it.

It was for sake of his worries, thus, that Fandral began trying to talk Loki into giving them more information about all the grand adventures he had apparently had without them and soon enough the conversation (to most a desperate attempt to _not_ think about betrayal, treason and unpleasant consequences) was flowing smoothly as they traded almost merry stories to pass the time.

Every now and again, however, one of them would glance backward – thinking, momentarily, that they had heard some strange bog-noise still in the distance. On such occasions Loki's smiles would become momentarily fixed, but then the blackness would reach out and pet him gently and it would seem that it soothed whatever concern he kept to himself.

Nevertheless, on every such occasion Loki would subtly increase the pace of the trip. Hogun knew this – he had been watching carefully. He had also taken the time to borrow the map from Volstagg's bag at one point and discovered that Loki seemed to be pushing for them to make it to the Midgard portal before anyone could suggest stopping for a rest again.

Whether Loki was worrying about something that was actually there or simply was reminded of his recent experience and wanted to get home as quickly as possible, Hogun could not tell, but he had noticed – as had Fandral, judging by the expression the dashing warrior wore – that Loki was slowly but surely wearing himself out in his hurry to reach the portal. It was not a comforting thought.

Fandral had been listening to Loki's tale of first visiting the Geheime Wereld in the fevered dreams of early childhood illness – and Thor's good natured complaint that he had nearly worried himself ill while Loki had apparently been running around the Dreamlands being spoiled by the natives – with an ever growing frown on his face.

"I thought you said earlier that the Ӕsir could not dream," Fandral finally said, his bamboozlement evident.

Loki tensed. "I said they do not dream, not cannot," he replied cautiously.

"Loki?" Thor prompted, watching a strangely sad expression take prominence on his brother's face.

"Sometimes I do not think I belong on Asgard, at all," Loki admitted quietly, feeling – as he did – as if the metaphorical dam he had tried to hide his turbulent feelings behind was beginning to crack.

Volstagg laughed. "But that is nonsense," he exclaimed. "What would you be if you were not of Asgard?"

"Adopted," Loki said bluntly. Had he felt as if he were in control of the situation – or himself – he most likely would never have answered, but he knew that the emotional balancing act he had been performing inside himself was not unlike walking along the edge of a cliff: one could only take a false step, wobble and right oneself so many times before one slipped and fell to ones doom …or the cliff face crumbled away beneath one.

"Why would you even think such a thing?" Sif asked.

Loki gave her a Look – the type that deserved to be capitalized – that suggested she was an idiot. "Green eyes are less dominant than blue, both in Ӕsir and every other race with those colours. Dark hair, always, is more prominent than light. So how does a green eyed, black haired child of different build than the rest appear in a family who are all blonde and blue-eyed?" he asked, although it seemed to be mostly rhetorical. "Especially when the claim is that the pregnancy was 'hidden' so that the king would not have an extra worry while he was at war?"

"Should it matter?" Thor asked sharply, a note of anger – most likely a subconscious channelling of his distress at the topic – clear in the turn. "Whether you are our blood or not you were Loki _Odinson _from the moment our father set you on his knee you were family."

The sad look, momentarily alleviated by Thor's words, spread across Loki's face again. "Sometimes," he said quietly, almost as if he did not want to admit it to himself any more than to them and feeling – as he did – as if his cliff was indeed crumbling beneath him; that the dam was bursting whether he liked it or not, "I do not think _our parents _would agree with th…"

The Trickster trailed off abruptly, a pale – fearful – expression taking prominence on his face.

"Run," he breathed.

"Loki?" Sif asked, watching him with concern.

Loki licked his lips, his face pale and drawn. "The path branches in two very soon, the left path leads to a large staircase," he said. "There is a heavy stone slab blocking the opening at the top, but it is possible to lift it." Then he swallowed again. "Run."

From amid the nothingness – which seemed almost as if it was struggling to pull something backward, away from them – a strange shape was beginning to emerge. There was a red, flame-like, glow from the front of it and a steady _Squelch, squelch, squelch, squelch, _marked its approach.

"RUN!" Loki yelled, for his companions – to stunned by the strange apparition – had yet to move.

It was the sheer desperation in the younger prince's tone that made them start moving, more than the command itself.

The nothingness seemed to chase after them as they ran, as if it was both attempting to keep the sides of the path blocked and trying to pull back the strange creature whose footfalls – unlike their own – could be heard with painful clarity as they ran. The path ahead, however, it made clear – no longer covering it in any way – but none of the travellers dared take the time to appreciate the dark, gray, rocky surroundings they could see ahead.

The only thing they truly could concentrate on was running as fast as they could toward the huge stone staircase they could see in the nearby-distance (if there was such a thing).

Thor, however, glanced backward with an expression of horror when he realised that Loki – who had exhausted himself so much already – was falling behind the rest of the group.

When he turned to go back for his brother – who, in turn, bore an expression of utter terror when he saw Thor slow and turn and who shook his head desperately in a vain effort to convince him to go on without him – the sight that met his eyes was more terrible than he had imagined.

The creature that chased them – no longer concealed by the mists of nothingness, which could not keep up – was a strange cross between a horse and a man, but it's horse-like legs were more akin to the fins of fish at the bottom and the webbing between the toes was what gave it the awful squelching sound that became ever louder in its approach. However it was not that, nor the single – flaming-red – eye that adorned the creature's face, nor even the creature's huge jaws (for its enormous gape might easily have taken one of the travellers whole, for all the that its upper-body seemed shaped like that of a man) which terrified Thor the most.

It was not even the horrible realisation that the creature – a huge mass of pale sinew, muscles of clear and immense power and black blood rushing visibly through its yellowed veins – had either been flayed alive or born with no skin whatsoever that made the Thunderer's blood run cold.  
It was that the creature was gaining on Loki – and Loki, upon seeing Thor turn and reach out (perhaps believing he meant to take his hammer and fight the beast), shook his head desperately over and over, silently pleading with his brother to run and leave him behind.

It was a great shock to Loki, thus, when instead of lifting Mjölnir, Thor lashed out when Loki reached him and tossed his brother over his shoulder. Thor, with Mjölnir raised in his other hand, flew as fast as he could to the top of the daunting staircase.

Then, leaving the shocked Trickster to start scrambling to open the trapdoor to whatever was above, Thor used his mighty hammer to fly back to the next slowest of his comrades and rush him to the top to help Loki. This repeated itself several times and although the eldritch being was quick, Thor's flight was quicker.

It had, for all that it was terrifying, merely become a matter of pushing open the covering slab and climbing through before the creature could successfully climb the great staircase. Of course, the skinless beast was a better climber than anticipated.

Soon several of them bore bloodied nails from the attempts.

As the creature reached the midway point of the great stair, Volstagg finally managed to lift the slab just enough for Thor to wedge his hammer beneath it and with a desperate push, the six of them managed to push the slab aside.

The creature gave a shriek and snapped it jaws as it continued it ascent.


	9. The Iron Wood

**Disclaimer: **Everything recognisable from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, etc, belongs to Marvel and its affiliates and I am neither them, nor making any money off this. Everything recognisable from the writings of H.P. Lovecraft belongs to… whoever it was who inherited ownership from Lovecraft himself. Again, that is not me and I am not making any money off this.

* * *

**Chapter Nine: The Iron Wood**

The creature below gave another horrible scream of rage as the first of the group, Fandral, was hoisted out of the hole and disappeared from its view. It was a mere five steps beneath them.

Sif pulled away from the others, balancing perilously close to the sharp drop that was the edge of the great stairway, and threw her favourite dagger (the very same that she had nearly lost during the fungus incident) at its chest.

Loki groaned.

The creature had been hit straight on, the dagger plunged deep between its pale sinews and powerful muscles, but it merely gave another scream of fury and wrenched the knife back out – there was a terrible slick, sucking sound as the blade came free. As it did, the horrid smell of infection became faintly apparent.

Hogun disappeared up through the hole, helped upward by Fandral and then hurriedly pushed further from the opening.

Black blood and viscous green pus oozed down the knife as it was thrown, carelessly, down the side of the stairs by one of the skinless hands of the creature. Something cried out in pain at the bottom of the cliff-like side of the staircase.

Sif's eyes widened and she stepped backward, shocked, only to give a little yelp of surprise as Fandral roughly pulled her up out of the hole.

The creature was a mere two mountainous steps away from them, its foul breath and wound's odour becoming painfully apparent.

Volstagg grasped Loki around the waist and pushed him up toward the waiting hands of Hogun. In turn, Volstagg's arms were grasped by Fandral and Sif – whose combined efforts were enough to pull the largest of the warriors safely out of the hole.

The creature opened its gaping jaws, the large serrated teeth becoming awfully visible as it did.

Thor accepted the hand Loki had extended to him, holding tightly to the handle of Mjölnir as he did, and – in a move that very nearly resulted in his loosing the arm that held his hammer – he managed to turn while being pulled out; thereby turning the handle of the hammer and (once the rest of him was safely out of the hole) pulled backward sharply so that the hammer came out from beneath the slab with enough speed that the creature could not prevent it closing completely.

As the slab fell back into place the six companions heard one last – infuriated – scream from below and then silence. It seemed that the creature was aware it could not lift the slab as they had.

Fandral laughed. It was the sort of dazed, hysterical laughter that was often born of panic, horror and relief in combination. It was also, in some ways, a more vivid form of the laughter and merriment which they had experienced as they'd walked and told tales – as such, it was both startling and sobering, for it brought into light just how broken and desperate much of the conversation (the peculiar attempt at normality) had actually been.

Sif, who was still breathing hard, glanced up at him in wary irritation. "What was that?" she asked, wiping her bloody nails on the ice-blue grass.

"Nuckelavee," Loki gasped out, for he was also still breathing heavily. "Their breath is a bringer of blight and plague – there is no fighting them. They hate running water, though."

Hogun breathed deeply, taking unspoken pleasure in the gentle scents which filled the area. His relief at being out of the Schaduw Wereld was great and the rustle of wind amid leafy trees and the sight of stars in the sky above seemed to lift a terrible weight from his mind.

Finally, however, the grim warrior turned to the Trickster. "You knew it was following us," he stated, although there was no accusation in the tone.

Loki winced and shrugged slightly. "If we had run earlier we would not have reached an exit before it caught us," he replied. "I could only hope it could be kept stalking, rather than charging, for as long as possible – and it would have scented the nervousness had I explained."

Volstagg pulled the map back out of his satchel (the one which had been supplied by Sigyn and her boys), opened it to the right map and frowned. "This is not the route we were meant to take," he said. "The stairway leads off the map."

"Welcome to the Geheime Wereld," Loki said, wryly.

"The Geheime Wereld!" Sif exclaimed.

Volstagg shrugged, as he preferred to eat rather than be eaten, and carefully tapped the Dreamlands symbol at the top of the scroll. Instantly the map shifted from the Schaduw Wereld form of Jötunheimr to the Dreamland version of the realm.

It was at that point, as the blood finally began to cease rushing in their ears and the fight or flight instinct began to subside, that the group noticed that they were standing in the middle of an unusual – but truly beautiful, in a strange and ethereal way – glade of soft, ice-blue grass. Around the glade, in a near perfect circle, were tall silver-barked trees with broad leaves of shade of white, ice-blue, periwinkle, azure and even a deep midnight colour. Unlike the strange flora of the Schaduw Wereld, though, the colours did not create an unhealthy aura for the plants.

It was to one of these silver and blue trees (one with leaves in the midnight blue range) that Loki suddenly pointed. The tree itself was quite large and appeared to have a rope ladder hanging from it.

"We can rest there tonight," Loki said. It was suddenly, and unpleasantly, becoming apparent that without the rush of action and desperation to survive to energise him, the younger prince was on the verge of collapse.

It took less than five minutes, to Hogun's surprise, for them to not only cross to and climb the ladder (which, as it turned out, lead to a sort of empty watch house with bunks and blankets – and even a central stone covered pit for a small fire – and no roof) and for Loki to fall asleep. What, perhaps, was more surprising was that he was unmistakably asleep. The term 'ready to crash for the night', it seemed, had never been more accurate.

Volstagg and Fandral had wasted very little time in starting a small fire in the stone pit (and it was truly strange to be lighting a fire while sitting in a tree, but since leaving for Jötunheimr _everything _had been strange to one degree or another) and heating the last of their meat rations to provide a slightly more palatable meal.

Similarly, Sif had pulled out a small stretch of bandaging cloth (so rarely used when healing stones were available) and one of their water-skins in order to clean the bloodied hands several of them had received.

Thor, however, had not aided in the preparations – instead he sat by his sleeping brother and bore a curious expression on his face.

Hogun knew, even if he did not like it, that there would be few other times Loki was definitely not listening and so the time for difficult questions had arrived. The thin veil of humour – and the desperation of flight – which had held it off since first Volstagg, then the Nuckelavee, had given the princes an excuse to avoid it, could no longer be maintained.

Although Hogun was not comfortable with heavily emotional conversations as a rule, it was annoyingly evident to him that none of the others was willing to start the conversation – too afraid, it seemed, that if the dam was to be cracked that it would burst entirely …and they all knew that they could not afford for Loki to revert to the state he had been in when they'd had brief refuge in Sigyn's home. It was time to spook the dragon.

"When he discovers that you are not as accepting of the possibility as you pretend to be he will only feel more betrayed," Hogun said.

Thor tensed. After a long pause, the Thunderer spoke in a low tone that was almost – but not quite – a growl. "What would you have me do?" he asked. "Give in to my anger without thinking again? Toss him into another bog and hope it does not disintegrate him like the last?"

"Yet you are mad?" Fandral pressed as he began to serve the warm meats.

"Of course I am mad!" Thor snapped. "I am mad because my brother is so unable to trust his own family that he _betrayed us_ for what he believed was our own good! I am mad because all of Asgard knows that the name one is given is just as important as blood, sometimes more so, and yet Loki talks as if blood is all that could matter! I am mad because…"

He trailed off, swallowing loudly and when he finally spoke again it was slower and sadder, "I am mad at myself …because I do not know what troubles weigh on his mind for him to speak such madness and I _do not know how to fix it_."

Then he raised his eyes and glared at Hogun, adding, "And I am mad at you for bringing it up. You should have let the matter rest."

"So that when he realises that you do _not _accept and forgive as easily as you would have him believe, he will simply distrust you the more for it?" Hogun replied sharply.

"Perhaps we should simply let the matter rest for now," Volstagg cut in around mouthfuls of dried and warmed meat.

Sif favoured him with a disapproving expression. "And do what?" she spat. "Continue to cling to humour and poor jests in an attempt to pretend nothing has changed, as you do? He may have meant well but that does not change his betrayal!"

"Does it not?" Fandral asked coldly, leaning forward and unintentionally making his moustache glow in the firelight. "You would claim that it makes no difference if I push you out of this tree because it is on fire or I push you out of this tree because I was irritated by you?"

"I don't see how betrayal and intention is relevant to the topic," Volstagg stated. "All I say is that we should not push him unnecessarily while we are still _completely_dependent on him to get us home."

Sif turned her glare upon him. "How are we dependant on him?" she asked. "He has been hurt more often than us on this venture."

"_Because _of us," Fandral muttered.

"And," Sif continued as if he had not spoken, "we have managed to survive all the time he has been hiding from his guilt inside his own head."

"Even if we could reach the alternate Asgard without him," Volstagg replied, shrugging his large shoulders in an effort to convey his desire to avoid a fight, "none of us open a portal so we could return to our home. I just do not think we should concern ourselves with such things when we have so much else to worry about." He paused for a moment, then added, "Besides, Loki's betrayal is a matter for the Allfather to decide upon, not us."

"And one day such decisions shall be mine to make," Thor murmured.

All of his companions, save the one who slept, turned to him with varying levels of concern upon their features.

"I am mad at him," Thor admitted. "I am also mad at myself. I cannot understand why he would believe that over a thousand years of brotherhood could be less important than sharing blood. I do not know where he is getting such ideas and I have tried to avoid thoughtlessly hurting him again by following the cues _he_has given in the matter – but he continues to bounce forward and backward as if he does not know what he wants!"

"Perhaps he doesn't," Fandral suggested. "What do you want?"

"I want things to go back to the way they were before," Thor said, "but that is not possible."

For a few moments there was silent in the little watchtower in the tree and then the Thunderer spoke again, far more quietly than he had before. "If I push too hard he may break completely," he murmured. "Yet not pushing at all does not work because as long as I pretend not to notice the random hints he gives – sometimes, I think, without realising he is doing so – I can get no further answers on the sudden insane idea that he seems to have accepted as fact. If I am at a loss for what to do now, how can I expect to be a king when we return home? What king follows the lead of others because he does not know how to handle a situation?"

"The kind of king," Hogun stated, "who is wise enough to know when he does not know what to do and who is willing to listen to good council."

Thor's head, which had sunk so he could watch his sleeping brother once more, jerked upward at the words and he fixed the grim warrior with a long, hard stare. "What then," he asked finally, "would your council be?"

Volstagg, Fandral and Sif all were silent, waiting – as Thor did – for their quiet friend to speak his mind. In that moment the only noise in the small treetop hut was the gentle crackling of the fire, though the sound of crickets could be heard from outside and below.

"Do not press for answers when he is not willing to give them," Hogun stated, "but when he gives a hint – whether you believe he realises it or not – call him out on it. The middle road is the better, in this case, for it makes room for both options."

Thor pressed his lips together for a moment, clearly weighing the advice against his own instincts, and then finally nodded. He was silent still for some moments after this, looking at the faces of his four companions and thinking. He understood that he had not given as much thought to the decision making kings had to do before the ill-fated journey to Jötunheimr, but now that he was he realised that – like with the decisions he made as leader every time they had gone on an adventure together – his word could not be final, even if it was not always perfect, if he gave no word. If he was to be a leader, he actually had to lead.

The crown prince licked his lips and swallowed again. "Loki betrayed Asgard by letting the Jötnar in, that cannot be denied," he said slowly, almost as if he himself was not certain of the conclusion he was coming to until each new word was spoken. "However, _because_ he took steps to ensure they could not enter again and because his intentions were for the good of Asgard no matter the other consequences …I believe that rotting alive for a time would be punishment enough. For the guards who were caught in his plan, he should pay weregild to their families when we return."

Thor glanced at his sleeping brother once more and quietly added, "And I shall take punishment for my own actions upon our return."

"But," Sif began.

"NO," Thor stated, his tone suddenly becoming firmer. "He made a mistake and he has paid for it, _as shall I, _and once we return we will make reparations to the families who have lost loved ones and the matter will be finished. Now, who shall take first watch?"

Although it was hard for all of them to sleep, with the conversation still strongly in their thoughts, it was decided that Hogun and Fandral would take first watch, followed by Sif and Volstagg and that the brothers would take the last watch – for it would save time if Loki decided upon their new route home before the others began to break camp.

In the morning, against the early light of sunrise, Loki surprised them all by first climbing to the very top of the tree and staring out into the distance for some time.

When he finally came down and announced that they would be walking back towards where Sigyn's house was in the Schaduw Wereld and Laufey's palace was in the Verborgen Wereld, he seemed to have a new light of hope in him – although not one of his companions could say why.

Thor, as he had agreed to do, made no attempt to press the Trickster for answers as they walked the natural path that had formed in the surprisingly pleasant woodlands and up a hill covered in soft ice-blue grass.

Loki graced them with a mischievous smirk as they came to the crest of the hill – a smirk which widened when it became clear that his companions truly had their breath taken by the view.

In the distance was a grand city – which glittered and shimmered in the early morning sun as if it were the most delicate of ice sculptures. The high towers bore gently swishing flags of periwinkle blue at their tops and the circular wall that surrounded the great city was both gargantuan and elegant.

"That is the home of Angrboða," Loki said. "The Queen of the Iron Wood."


	10. The One Who Brings Grief

**Disclaimer: **Everything recognisable from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, etc, belongs to Marvel and its affiliates and I am neither them, nor making any money off this. Everything recognisable from the writings of H.P. Lovecraft belongs to… whoever it was who inherited ownership from Lovecraft himself. Again, that is not me and I am not making any money off this.

* * *

**Chapter Ten: The One Who Brings Grief**

It was Fandral, surprisingly, who first spoke. "That cannot be right," said he. "The Jötunn queen Angrboða lived twelve thousand years ago!"

Sif frowned for a moment. "Didn't Sigyn say something about people being able to die in their sleep and continue existing here?" she asked, uncertainly.

The brilliant grin Loki favoured her with was answer enough.

"Amazing," Fandral murmured, staring out at the distant city. "A living legend from the heyday of Jötnar civilization, still ruling in a different Wereld…" After a moment, he titled his head curiously. "Is she as beautiful as her city, do you think?" he inquired thoughtfully. "All the legends and histories say that before the dynasty of Ymir became the ruling house of Jötunheimr – before the birth of Odin, his father Borr or even Búri, Borr's father – the Jötnar bore the fairest faces of all that lived. Tis said that in those old days they were not so large, either, and that giant referred foremost to their personalities. They even had hair – I've never seen a Frost Giant with hair. Do you think it would be blue?"

Thor snorted softly. "If that is so then they have certainly fallen far in both appearance and attitude," he replied.

"The House of Auðumbla and her daughters was the height of civilization in all the nine realms. They were renowned for their intellect and their art, amongst many other things," Loki murmured. "When that dynasty faded away and the House of Ymir took over the peace with primitive Asgard faded. A great deal of Asgard's knowledge was taken from the Jötnar before their culture began to collapse."

Volstagg frowned. "I was never the best with history," he admitted, "but I could have sworn Auðumbla was the name of a cow."

"Auðumbla was the first queen," Sif replied – for she had studied history with more attention than most of her companions. "She was associated with the cow, just as Queen Angrboða was associated with the serpent and the wolf."

Fandral chuckled, for he was well used to Sif's apparently endless knowledge of the histories of women who had gone into battle or ruled without male company. "It is strange to think their descendants could have become such monsters," he said, meaning it as a friendly jab toward the shieldmaiden.

Loki flinched.

Hogun glanced sideways at him and raised an eyebrow. That, he thought, was _very_interesting.

"You seem in better spirits today, Brother," Thor said.

Unnoticed by the brothers, Hogun put his face in his hand and shook his head slightly.

Loki stared out at the city which glimmered in the early morning light. "Sometimes," he breathed, with a faraway, almost sorrowful, look in his eyes, "even when something is a very important part of your life… you forget about it. If there's too much else going on, if things are happening too quickly – things,_ important _things, get forgotten."

"Did you forget something, Loki?" Thor inquired, pressing for answers as gently as he could.

"Oh yes," Loki replied, though his tone bore a strange mixture of amazement and delight.

"What was it?" Thor asked, turning to face the younger prince.

Loki, however, remained staring forward – his eyes fixed on the glittering outer wall of the city. "Something important," he murmured.

"Loki!" Thor exclaimed, exasperated by the completely useless reply.

The Trickster did not seem bothered by this, though, for he stared out at the city with an expression which seemed desperately hopeful.

"Have you remembered it, then?" Volstagg asked. "Is that why your moods have lifted so this morning?"

Loki closed his eyes for a moment, his expression truly peaceful for the first time since the coronation went awry, and – almost thoughtlessly – he murmured, "I have been reminded that things are, perhaps, not so bad as I had feared. Without the reminder, in hectic Verborgen Wereld time, I would not have considered it."

Sif glanced sideways at him, with one of her eyebrows arched elegantly.

In spite of the lack of clouds in the blue sky above them, a gentle – fluffy – snow began to fall.

Loki seemed to relax slightly as snowflakes began to get caught in his dark hair. "Oh," he breathed, opening his eyes. "She knows."

"What did you say?" Sif exclaimed, baffled.

Loki turned to her, as if surprised she had not heard him the first time. "It snows," he replied.

Sif narrowed her eyes at him, for she was certain that what she had heard and what he claimed to have said were not the same, but she never had the chance to call him on it.

Without warning, Loki suddenly grinned broadly, let out a laugh that was bright, crisp, clear and full of pure joy and took off running down the hill – heading toward the city with his arms spread wide in child-like glee.

His bubbly, joyous laughter echoed back to his companions as he nigh well danced down the hillside – sometimes even taking a few steps to twirl around as he descended – and, for all that he had been the most exhausted of the all, it was his companions who were struggling to keep up with _him_.

As they finally began to reach flat ground again, with the long – winding – road to the city ahead, Loki slowed to a walk once more and allowed them to catch up with him.

"Do you think that all Jötnar are monsters?" the Trickster asked suddenly as Thor came to walk by his side.

The question, so apparently random, was enough to make Thor slow and to force him to catch up again by several paces. "That is an odd thing to ask," the Thunderer replied, cautiously.

"We are about to knock on the doors of a city full of Jötnar, some of whom will be dreamers who still live on Jötunheimr today," Loki replied. "Their queen is of Jötunheimr and this very city is the heyday form of the ruins in which Laufey holds court. It is a _very_ pertinent question." Then, with a frown, he added, "If you approach Angrboða with demands as if she is your subject in _her own country_, she will not be as unbothered as Laufey about it. If you do not treat her as an equal – or a better, since she is a _queen_ and you are still a _prince _– she will either toss you out of the city or hang you from a flagpole until you've learned respect."

Thor blinked at that. "I had not thought I was acting as was improper for our respective stations in speaking to Laufey," he replied. "They did break treaty and kill two guards."

Loki gave him a sidelong glance which suggested that he either was trying to be very cautious or that he was trying to work out whether he was going to need to use single syllable words to get through to his brother.

"You barged into his palace, in his realm, speaking insults of his people before you saw or spoke with any of them and demanded that he hand over what must have been _extremely classified military secrets_ to his _enemies_ just because _**you said so**_**,**" Loki replied slowly.

Ironically, it was only as he spoke that he himself began to consider the wrongs done to the Jötnar and not just the wrongs of his brother's method. "And then we slaughtered what must have been hundreds of them," Loki added, suddenly sounding faint and ill, "all because you were spoiling for a fight and some large mouthed idiot called you a princess."

Loki swallowed, suddenly, and mumbled, "Perhaps the Ӕsir are not so correct about which side are the monsters." This was followed by an even quieter murmur which sounded distinctly like, "And yet you would not have been there at all if not for me…"

Thor was silent for some time after that, but when he finally spoke it seemed tinged with some slight regret. "Grandmother Bestla was from Jötunheimr," he said. "She was one of the few who were born looking more like one from the elder dynasty – before Jötunheimr and its people fell into decay."

Loki's lips twitched in bitter amusement at the phrase.

Fandral opened his mouth.

"And her hair was not blue, Fandral," Thor stated, cutting him off. "Loki no doubt inherited his black locks from her."

Loki's expression grew thoughtful for a moment, but then the faint look of hope in his eyes faded and he shook his head slightly; dismissing whatever thought or theory Thor's words had sparked. "Do you think they are monsters?" he repeated, a clear note of uncertainty in his tone. This, however, he attempted to cover, for his next words were, "If you do it would be best that I go in to barter for supplies and we find a slightly longer route back to …Asgard."

Thor caught the pause. "Home, Loki," he corrected firmly. "Even if you were adopted it would be your home."

"Home is where the heart rests," Loki murmured.

"Father often said that Grandmother was odd by the standards of the Jötnar," Thor said at length, choosing to let the peculiar and worrying statement pass without comment. "She told him stories of how the reign of Ymir's house had led the Jötnar to descend to the level of monsters both mentally and morally. The Jötnar over whom Laufey reins have long since lost all of the beauty, wisdom and grace which once characterised their race. It is said that they have bred all the good out of themselves and that only the occasional throwback – like Grandmother Bestla and Freyr's Gerðr – still find pleasure in learning and wit. I do not believe your friends here are monsters, brother, but have it on good authority that the majority of those who are left are nearer to wild animals than the great people and culture from whom they descend."

Loki turned to him, his face quite pale, and asked in a tone that was both frightened and frightening, "But what if that good authority is _wrong_? Laufey behaved reasonably until the battle began – what if we're wrong? Then I have coldly planned the murder of three innocents who may have had families and you have insisted on the slaughter of many because you were bored. Thor, _what if we're wrong?_"

"…I do not think that is something we need worry about," Thor said finally, although it was clear the question had shaken him quite deeply. "If it is, then all we can do is make amends for our errors and move on. To do more right to make up for what we have done wrong."

Loki blinked. He glanced at Thor in slight surprise, and shook his head slightly. "When did you start thinking so deeply?" he asked, with a faint note of humour to the tone.

"When my brother stopped talking," Thor replied, quite seriously.

Loki blinked again.

"Some of them were certainly monsters, though," Sif stated, trying to sooth the friend of whom – she would admit – she was least fond. "Such as Þrívaldi – even the most forgiving could not say he was no monster."

"Þrívaldi," Volstagg repeated, searching his memory for a moment. "Oh, yes, the nine-headed one. Now _that _was quite the adventure!"

The philosophical query faded from the conversation slowly as they walked toward the great city. However, Loki's brow stayed creased with concern as they walked.

To the surprise of all, save Loki, when they finally reached the elegant gates of the grand city, a large wolf dipped its head and stepped aside to allow them entrance.

Sif and Fandral both turned to look at it again as they passed, their eyes wide with amazement and disbelief.

There were many people – mostly Jötnar, but a great number of others also mixed among them – in the streets, going about their days. More amazingly, though, there were a large number of wolves, felines and serpents intermingled with them and the people of the city behaved as if the animals were citizens such as themselves. In fact, as Hogun realised when Volstagg pointed out that some of the crystal bridges above the streets seemed to be built specifically for the serpents and smaller cats, they most likely were citizens like the bipeds. Hogun also could not help but notice how smug Loki seemed about that.

In some parts of the city there were tall, crystalline buildings which seemed to be housing. In others the buildings were made of stones, often marble, and appeared to consist mainly of business. Although the overall tone of the city was of blues, silvers and occasional whites, the city was a colourful place and every street and building glistened and sparkled in the sunlight.

The sprawling metropolis had several parks on the route they took, all with the same silver, blue leafed trees from the rest of the Iron Wood, and there were stalls on many of the streets. To the shock of many of the travellers, some of the stalls sold the same strings of precious gems, which many citizens wore in their hair, as if they were mere trinkets.

There were, as Hogun had noted aloud, slabs of stone in different colours than the smooth pavements at the start and end of every street – these, if one took the time to look, had the name of each street on the junction clearly engraved in what seemed to be white gold – and all of the travellers, save Loki, had been surprised by the fast, wheeled boards with sails which people of all species used to travel the streets faster and with more luggage. A similar, although enclosed, contraption seemed to move along certain bridges between the buildings at an even faster pace.

It seemed that on every street there was at least one musician at work, or a painter or some show of street theatre and even when there was not one could almost always hear someone humming to themselves as they went about their morning. When Sif had commented on this Loki had merely smiled and said that after breakfast more people would be inclined to join in the impromptu and improvised performances.

Most notable of everything, though, was that throughout the entire city there wafted a faint fragrance akin to – but not quite the same as – freshly baked bread. Although, this Loki also attributed to the fact that it was not quite yet the time of breaking fast in the morning.

The majority of the walk through the ethereal city's wide, elegant streets was spent asking questions about the oddities spotted and listening as Loki's answers slowly went from pleased and helpful to sarcastic and wry. It was painfully clear that he took great joy in the city and speaking of its blue and silver walls and grand buildings yet at the same time the vast amount of questions being directed at him were evidently fraying his nerves.

They began to approach what could only be the palace – clear both from its position in the centre of the city and how it seemed to be everything that Laufey's ruined palace ought to have been. It was bright and airy, a beacon to those of learning and a great artwork in its own right – and its sliver walls shone brightly with the care that only loving conservation and tending could give.

Hogun glanced curiously at Loki as they met no opposition from any guards whatsoever (who, in fact, seemed to stop no one and mostly give directions to the people coming and going: which never would have been allowed in Asgard) and walked unimpeded into the great palace – toward what could only be the throne room.

Loki winked.

The great doors of ice – carved with simple, elegant flowers and vines – opened as they approached and for the travellers who had not been there before, it seemed as if they had stepped into Laufey's throne room _as it should have been_.

There was still a grand throne far above them, but instead of being hidden in shadow it glimmered in the sunlight that bathed it from the glass dome that made up the roof above. All of the alcoves, also, glowed with light and instead of being hiding places for Jötnar soldiers they held alternately hanging plants with blooming flowers and crystal statuettes on high pedestals.

The person on the throne, too, could not have been more different – and not merely because she was clearly visible. The Jötunn queen was thin and tall – even when sitting – although not quite so much taller as Laufey's Jötnar were, and her face and poise bore all the signs of elegance and aristocracy. She also bore significantly more clothing than the Jötnar they had seen in the Verborgen Wereld and her blue skin – bared at arms, face and plunging neckline – made stark contrast with the long snow-white gown with its white fur trimming and the white cloak of the same style that rested regally about her shoulders.

Hogun glanced at Fandral, noted his wide eyes, and idly jabbed him in the side to make him stop internally narrating the scene with _far _too many adjectives focused on the lady. He suspected that his fellow warrior was already mentally composing poetry for the serenade.

Angrboða's red eyes seemed to glitter with interest as Loki stepped forward to address her.

"Queen Angrboða," Loki began with a gracious bow and, when he straightened, wide spread arms, "Fairest of snow lilies, brightest light of winter."

Angrboða's lips twitched, slightly, and one of her snow-white eyebrows rose. "If you call me that again I will hang you from a flagpole," she said bluntly.

Loki smirked up at her and from the expression she wore looking down at him, the amusement was mutual. "Sounds like fun," he replied.

"Not that kind of flagpole, sweetheart," the queen stated dryly. She rose and began to walk down the staircase that led from her throne to the throne room floor.

Loki seemed to be aware of the shocked and incredulous stares fixed upon his back, for he turned to face his companions and – in a tone that was pure cheek – asked, "Problem?"

"Not two hours ago," Thor began, but had to stop to swallow his fury before he could restart. "Not _two hours ago _you gave me a lecture on proper behaviour when meeting with foreign royalty!"

"Well, yes," Loki said mildly. "But you weren't flirting with Laufey." He paused for a moment, mischievous nature clearly at the forefront, and added, "At least, I hope you weren't."

The queen from the great legends, renowned for her elegance and grace, burst out laughing and actually was shaking so hard from the humour that she bent over and grasped her knees for support lest she fall.

To the disappointment of Fandral, her long white hair blocked the view he might otherwise have had.

Thor stared at his brother in amazement.

However, anything he might have intended to say was cut short when Angrboða straightened and asked, "What sort of trouble are you in _this _time?"


	11. Cruel Striker

**Disclaimer: **Everything recognisable from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, etc, belongs to Marvel and its affiliates and I am neither them, nor making any money off this. Everything recognisable from the writings of H.P. Lovecraft belongs to… whoever it was who inherited ownership from Lovecraft himself. Again, that is not me and I am not making any money off this. Also, there is a very minor reference to a character from one of Jim Henson's films – I do not own that nor am I making any money off it.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: Cruel Striker**

Angrboða had listened curiously – with the occasional cut off exasperated exclamation of "Oh, for!" – as Loki had given a very condensed explanation of the chain of events which had lead to their presence muddying her halls (rather literally).

Then, after a moment's contemplation, she raised her head to address a small serpent – whose iridescent scale that shimmered in a rainbow of colours when the sunlight shone upon it – and inquired, "Are any of the ships capable of high speed inter-realm travel in port at the moment?"

The sunbeam snake, which was resting comfortably on one of the many snake travel platforms that ran along and through the walls of the palace in order to facilitate speed of travel, tilted her wedge shaped head thoughtfully.

"I believe that the fastest at this time is the royal barge," she hissed thoughtfully, making it perfectly clear that she was one of the queen's main aides and advisors by her familiarity. "It will take several days before she is fit to sail, though."

Angrboða nodded. "We shall simply have to get the next trading vessel that goes to Svartalfheim Underground to pass on my apologies to Jareth – tell him something more important came up," she replied. "There are, I presume, guest bedrooms available."

"There are always guest rooms available in the palace," the serpent pointed out wryly. "The five in the marble corridor would perhaps suit best?"

Angrboða tilted her head in acknowledgment and thanks as the snake slithered off to pass on the messages. "There is still an hour before the breaking of night's fast," she stated. "Xesh is very efficient, she will no doubt have ordered fresh clothes to be set out in the rooms for you, and I am certain you will appreciate the chance to wash and change before the morning meal."

"It is most appreciated," Thor replied with sincere gratitude. "I daresay we neither look nor smell our best after the journey we have had."

"You stink," Angrboða stated.

Loki gave a choked little laugh.

Angrboða stepped forward and slipped her hand into his, showing at once that she was – while on flat slippers – half a head taller than Loki and smiled at them. "Follow me," she murmured and began to lead them toward the promised guest rooms.

As most of them were too busy trying not to laugh too loudly at Fandral's shocked murmur of "Another one?" only Hogun noticed the amazement with which Loki gazed upon his own pale hand and the place where his fingers entwined with hers ...but then, he was looking for it.

Thor had also failed to laugh, however his concern was quite different. "Is waiting for the ship truly the fastest route back to Asgard?" he asked, with concern clear in his voice.

Angrboða laughed again – the sound bright, crisp and clear – and said, "Time works very differently in the Verborgen Wereld and the Geheime Wereld. Rest assured that you could spend months here and have been away a mere night there. Schaduw Wereld time – like the Wereld itself – is somewhere in between."

When they finally reached the five guest rooms the queen gestured to the open doors with their elegant frames and smiled gently. "Make yourselves at home," she stated, "and remember: you're perfectly safe here." In spite of the words, she somehow managed to make the tone feel vaguely threatening while clearly being gentle and welcoming. It was a disconcerting combination.

Not long after that Loki and Angrboða were walking, side by side, toward their chambers and the queen gave her lover a Look. It was, unsurprisingly, the kind that deserved to be capitalized.

Loki continued to stare down at his hand.

"Are you going to tell me what the problem is or am I going to have to call Fenrir back from patrol to sit on you until you give in?" the queen inquired dryly.

"I do not think he would appreciate that," Loki said.

"I think you just don't want your youngest to pounce on you in front of your little friends and lick your face until you give in and scratch behind his ears," Angrboða replied archly, although the humour was evident in her tone.

Loki was silent for a moment. "Due to the nature of the Dreamlands," he said softly, "even when you take your Verborgen body with you there is some level of control over how you appear and what you can do – nature works differently here – and if you do not know something about yourself or your appearance it would not show up."

Angrboða was silent; allowing her consort to express himself in his own time.

It was only once they had closed the grand doors of the Queen's Chambers and closed the thin airy curtains which could be used to block the light from the balcony that Loki spoke again. "My hand turned blue," he stated, "during the battle. It was the first time I touched someone from Jötunheimr outside the Dreamlands. I would like to blame a curse, but I know that cannot be ...and so the only explanation is that I am Jötunn myself, made to look like one of the Ӕsir, and – thus – I must be adopted, for Bestla's blood would not be enough for this. I have been numb for days from the realisation."

"It's not your species that bothers you, though, not really," Angrboða stated as she watched him drop garment after garment into the laundry hamper.

Loki turned to her with an expression not unlike that of a deer which had just stumbled out into a clearing and discovered that it was standing in front of a group of equally surprised hunters. With the way the light shone down through the crystal dome that made up the roof, it was a particularly amusing expression.

"I'm not an idiot," Angrboða added, tartly. "You know that you are too short to be anything other than a throwback – especially since your hair colour had to have come from somewhere – and since you do not believe that I am a monster, nor do you think so of my people, you cannot be afraid of your own nature. You are not afraid of _what_ you are, you are afraid of _who _you are."

Loki glanced warily at her from over his shoulder as he moved into the grand en suite. "How do you figure that?" he inquired, barely blinking as he did at the new ice lilies in the vases attached to the wall and the waterproof clipboard of updates hanging from one of the hooks on the shower.

"I know that because I know you're not an idiot. In fact, you're exceptionally clever and you have often said that Odin Hoárr is deserving of the kennings that would call him wise," she stated bluntly. "It could not have taken you more than a few seconds to realise that no political leader – especially not a wise one – would have taken in an infant child of the enemy without a reason …a _political _reason."

Loki swallowed. "He wouldn't have taken me unless I was someone important," he replied, feeling somewhat ill to hear the queen who had reined for so very long confirming his own logic. "If I was as Freyja is – a political hostage – he would not have announced me as his son ...and he said on more than one occasion, when we were young, that both Thor and I were born to be kings."

"And the possibility of being installed on the throne of Jötunheimr and working to restore that realm to the glory it had when I ruled bothers you?" Angrboða inquired dryly, leaning on the door to the en suite as she did. "I think not. It is also, I think, not a matter of you being a mere puppet king for Asgard – that assuming, of course, that the Ymir dynasty would be overthrown and whatever House you came from became the new leading family, by your rule, rather than the attempt leading to you being assassinated before a civil war."

Loki tensed slightly, unaware that he had gripped the edge of his bathrobe tightly.

"This is _personal_," Angrboða concluded.

Loki graced her with a bitter, alarmingly wide, smile. "The only logical conclusion is that once Thor was on the throne Odin intended to use me, as you said, to control Jötunheimr for Asgard and," he said, cutting himself off suddenly to swallow.

After a few moments Loki began speaking again, "I always knew they liked Thor more – with Thor it was always 'well done', with me it was always 'that is good, _but_ it could be better'. The first day I thought that perhaps, perhaps, I could do something, say something, that would be enough for them to …to _love me _like they love him."

Angrboða raised an eyebrow.

Loki gave a choked, nearly hysterical, little laugh – or perhaps it was a sob – and leaned forward, continuing viciously, "One does not _love_ the tools one uses."

"So you concluded that not being as praised and cuddled as the Odinson was actually a cunning plan to make you unwaveringly loyal to the Ӕsir," Angrboða commented with a distinct sneer to her tone. "How? By offering you _just enough_ affection that you would believe that you could be as loved as your _brother_ if you were just a little better but at the same time offering you no more affection than they _absolutely had to?_"

"Ginnarr is a kenning of Odin for a reason," Loki replied harshly.

"Deceiver," Angrboða murmured, letting the word roll in her mouth. "For give me if I think the bog water's gotten to your head. Once Thor is king what Odin planed or wants no longer matters."

Loki wavered slightly, seeming uncertain. "But if it is to bring peace…" he began, not entirely certain where the sentence was heading.

"Then they'll just have to get over their own bloated egos, sit down and _talk to each other_," Angrboða stated coolly. "Just like _everyone else in the universe_. If they cannot bring themselves to do that then they deserve the horrors of war they bring upon themselves."

Loki smiled at her, with a strange sort of pained relief in his expression, and he murmured, "I cannot believe I almost forgot that I could come to you for advice." Then the pained part of the expression took over completely and he added, nearly spitting the words, "I puzzled for so long over what point there was in asking Odin – I knew that if it was as I think it is then he would say what he thought I wanted to hear, just so to keep the tool under control. They'll probably have a feast – drinking and making merry and being glad that I am gone whilst I sit on a cold and unwelcoming throne and am prevented from seeking vengeance only by the foolish belief that they might _miss me_."

"If you do not brush your smelly teeth, go in the shower and stop being so melodramatic I shall hit you," Angrboða replied. "If you cannot trust his answers then do not ask him: tell him."

Loki smiled at her as she left the room. As it happened, though, he was washed, dried and dressed (and absolutely certain that the white and ice-blue combination in the clothes was Angrboða's way of childishly marking her territory) in record time. That, however, left him standing in their chambers, watching as his queen flipped through the pages of her book idly, and trying to figure out what to say about the earlier conversation.

It seemed that Angrboða already knew what she wanted to say, for when he shifted one too many times she closed the book and placed it on the small table upon which she had been resting her feet, stood, extended her hand and simply said, "Show me."

"I never saw what I looked like entirely," Loki warned.

"Let the Ӕsir appearance fall away and it will show itself naturally," Angrboða stated calmly. "If I see your clan lines I will be help you figure out what to do."

Loki stared at her for a few moments, then suddenly lashed out and grabbed the extended hand, watching in a dazed, faint sort of terror as the pink slowly faded and was replaced with deep Jötunn blue. He swallowed.

Angrboða's hand tightened around his own – a gesture which he might have mistaken for comfort had it not begun to hurt. "Well," she said tightly, "at least we can rule out the possibility that he was trying to help a distant relative."

Then, without warning or explanation, she stalked out onto the balcony and turned to a serpentine guard who was sunbathing in the morning light.

"Bring me Cruel Striker," she commanded, cold anger clear in the tone and – with a gesture toward Loki that signified that he was to follow her – she strode out of the room, her cloak billowing behind her.

Within five minutes she was seated upon her high throne once more, her expression so hard and cold that it might have been carved from ice itself. Loki himself skulked in an alcove that was half-shaded by the shadow of the throne.

It did not talk long for a Jötunn woman to be ushered into the throne room. Her large red eyes seemed to convey confusion and her long black hair, which was beginning to turn to a silver-gray at the front, was tied in a neat braid that hung down her back.

"Tell me, Fárbauti, have you misplaced something?" Angrboða asked archly in her dry, ironical voice. "Like, perhaps, a _son_?"

The Jötunn dreamer stepped backward; clearly flummoxed.

In his alcove, Loki also drew back. His skin, which had still been the steel blue of the Jötnar, paled to a light sky colour as the blood drained from his face with the shocked realisation: this woman was _his mother_.

Fárbauti's lips pressed together as she looked up at the queen in bafflement.

Cornflower blue, Loki decided dazedly and, somewhere in the back of his mind, he could not help but wonder when such things had become of import to him.

When it became clear that Angrboða was still waiting for her to say something, Fárbauti tilted her head slightly and said, "Helblindi, son of my husband by his first wife Nál, was injured in the Odinson's attack – I know that he is in the healing rooms. Býleistr, child of my blood, I left helping to repair the damage to the palace when I went to bed – and I have no other children – so I am afraid I do not understand."

"So you did not have a child of the old stock by Laufey?" Angrboða inquired coolly. "One who was born around the end of the war with Asgard?"

Fárbauti's expression darkened. "Loptr," she said. "He died as an infant."

"Rather hard to confirm that without a body, isn't it?" Angrboða replied archly.

It was evident that Fárbauti understood that Angrboða would not have made such inquiries without some knowledge regarding the fate of her child which she, herself, did not have and so her reply was not directly to the question but was more to the point. "By the time I gave birth to Loptr it was evident that we were not going to win the war," she stated, apparently emotionally unaffected. "Children of the old stock require nearly twice as many resources as the newer breed. I had two other children to think of and, as it was obvious the Ӕsir would take the casket if they could, there was very little reason to waste precious resources. I left him in the temple when the city was evacuated. What should it matter to me whether the Ӕsir burned him with the other bodies or left him to rot?"

Loki felt as if he had been hit in the middle by Mjölnir when Thor was in a particularly bad mood. It seemed as if all the air had left his lungs.

"You could have brought him here," Angrboða stated. "Instead you left him in the path of the Ӕsir to be butchered."

Fárbauti seemed vexed by the interrogation. "And what business is it of yours?" she snapped. "He no doubt died a long ti…" Suddenly she sighed, deflating slightly with the realisation. "Of course," she continued, brushing several silvery hairs away from her forehead, "Odin All-seeing would have thought him _very useful_. I should have smothered him to save the trouble. If any but my Helblindi receives the throne all Jötunheimr will rebel, so Loptr could not be of use to anyone."

In his alcove, Loki clenched his fists – quite furious with the woman for referring to her stepson with a possessive pronoun when she spoke of Loki himself with such distain.

"I do not judge my loved ones on how useful they are," Angrboða replied, still in her cool and ironical tone. She glanced briefly in the direction of Loki's alcove, a clear invitation for those who knew her well enough.

Loki did not quite succeed in quelling the trembling that seemed to overwhelm him as he stepped out into the light and approached the woman who had birthed him.

"Loki is my consort," Angrboða said calmly, waving one of her elegant hands in his direction, "and father to my three children."

Loki faintly thought he heard someone take a sharp breath, but with the blood rushing in his ears he could not be sure. Soon he was face to face with Fárbauti and as they looked at each other, Loki could see how his face mirrored hers – the resemblance was quite striking.

Loki arched an eyebrow momentarily, opened his mouth, licked his lips and closed his mouth again. He glanced down for a moment, and then – although he was mostly sure he already knew the answer – murmured, "Did you ever love me?"

"We hoped for months for a strong third son," Fárbauti replied. "You were …a disappointment."

"Did you _love _me?" Loki repeated, his voice tight, with anxiety and frustration making themselves clear in his tone.

"I had a son and a stepson who I had raised and loved for many years already," Fárbauti said.

"You're avoiding the question," Loki snarled. "Answer the question."

"The family was perfect," Fárbauti said. "You were in the way."

"ANSWER THE QUESTION!" Loki roared, now trembling with rage rather than nervousness. "DID YOU LOVE ME?"

For a few moments the crystals in the grand throne room seemed to echo and tremble from the force and volume of the command.

When silence finally fell again, Fárbauti raised a dark eyebrow slightly and, in a calm emotionless tone, said, "No."

Loki stepped backward, nodding slightly in a regal manner, though the alarmingly periwinkle tone his face had taken on betrayed how shaken he truly was. Had he still been in Ӕsir form, he no doubt would have been quite ashen.

"You are no longer welcome here," Angrboða said, "on account of …retroactive treason."

"What?" Fárbauti exclaimed, baffled.

"You left the Prince Consort of my realm to die," Angrboða replied blithely. "You will not be welcome in my land again until I hear from _his lips_," she proclaimed, her voice suddenly reaching a crescendo before sinking gently once more and pointing sharply to Loki as it did, "that you are forgiven."

Fárbauti nodded, somewhat shaken.

One of the snakes hanging around on the serpent platforms appeared to make a note of it.

"Flagpole her," Angrboða blithely commanded.

Fárbauti gave a cry of horror as a combination of Jötnar, canine, feline and serpentine guards and aids dragged her from the room and down a passage hidden in one of the alcoves. For a moment, as Fárbauti was dragged from the room, her eyes locked with Loki's and in that moment he understood that she preferred to wound him with cruel words so that he would not cling to false hope of finding himself family with her and hers. He did not doubt that Angrboða had known it when she gave the command.

It wasn't until Laufey's queen had disappeared from view completely that Loki realised one of his hands had lifted – quite of its own accord – and been partly outstretched.

"How much did you hear?" Angrboða asked sharply, her eyes focused on the open doors of ice that lead into the throne room.

Loki spun around and upon seeing the shocked faces of his five travelling companions – who stood, stunned, in the doorway – Loki face flushed to a deep indigo.

"What does it mean, to flagpole someone?" Thor asked in response, his tone hard.

Angrboða raised a white eyebrow elegantly. "It means that she will be flayed alive and her skin hung from a flagpole," she stated in a cold, acerbic tone. "As she is currently dreaming and her body is in the Verborgen Wereld, it is no more permanent a punishment than when you have a guard whipped for tardiness and then give him a healing stone." Then, having elucidated, she repeated the question, carefully and viciously enunciating, "_How much did you __**hear**_?"

Sif glanced at her hands. "All of it," she murmured.

If Loki hadn't known better, he would have thought she sounded apologetic. He laughed.

For some reason, though, all he could hear was crying.


	12. Slipping Through My Fingers

**Disclaimer: **Everything recognisable from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, etc, belongs to Marvel and its affiliates and I am neither them, nor making any money off this. Everything recognisable from the writings of H.P. Lovecraft belongs to… whoever it was who inherited ownership from Lovecraft himself. Again, that is not me and I am not making any money off this. This chapter's title is from a song by ABBA - I do not own it nor am I making any money from it.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: Slipping Through My Fingers**

Suddenly – from somewhere deep in the city, a high – clear bell tolled.

In response to this, Loki fled swiftly past the other travellers; dodging past their arms and swiping viciously at his eyes as he did. The others had no chance to speak before he was past them and stood awkwardly – uncomfortable not from the borrowed clothes they wore (which, it seemed had been matched to the colours they had worn on arriving) but from the uncertainty they felt regarding the situation.

Angrboða, still high upon her throne, sighed and stood. "You have questions," she stated. Before any of them could open their mouth to speak, or ask, anything, however, she continued; affecting a high, whining tone when she asked each question and answering bluntly in her own voice.

"Is he really your consort?" Angrboða inquired, in that horrible false tone. "Technically no: we are not officially married and his unpredictable presence makes it pointless to put him in charge of anything. It is not as if it necessary, either, as I am thirty-six thousand years old and perfectly capable of running by country without the assistance of a spouse of any kind. Time works differently here."

"_You have three children_?" Angrboða continued, her questioning voice sounding alarmingly like a twisted mimic of Sif, as she began walking down the grand stairs. When she answered, however, her own ironical and harsh tone, and her lack of patience with the matter, made itself perfectly clear to all who heard her. "Yes. They are all adults and our eldest, Hel, is queen of Geheime Helheim and Verbrogen Helheim – she looks most like her father and is therefore the only one of our children capable of appearing in the Verborgen Wereld at all …although even she can only appear _halfway_. Jörmungandr is a serpent large enough to encircle the planet Midgard if he so pleased – and could probably squish it – but most often prefers to keep to our seas and Fenrir, the youngest, is leading his guard pack on patrol of the city's perimeter at this time, he should be back soon – do no_t_let him nibble on your fingers: he does not know his own strength."

Thor opened his mouth, then, unable to actually find words for the situation, he closed it again.

"How can you possibly be sure that anything that woman said was true?" Angrboða continued in that mocking tone, still descending the staircase. "I have known Fárbauti for a very long time and can say with complete certainty that she has never been one to let _emotion_ get in the way of seeing things clearly. Furthermore, Laufey's first wife – Nál – was _adored_, so if Fárbauti says that _all of Jötunheimr_ will rebel if Helblindi does not get the throne – especially if he loses it to an _Ӕsir raised __**puppet**_ – then all of Jötunheimr _will _rebel."

"But surely you cannot think that Odin would do something so dishonourable?" Angrboða asked, voicing the question that she knew they were thinking. Her voice dropped to a tone of deadly sincerity and pure, cold fact as she answered, now having reached the throne room floor, "Honour is a luxury, and any politician worth their salt would take advantage of such a situation – if you cannot understand that you will not last five minutes in the political arena. I've seen enough empires rise and fall to know."

Then, still in that cold, fierce tone, she added, "You'll have to forgive me for taking the words out of your mouths – it was obvious what you were going to ask and answering without waiting for you to come up with the 'right words' was more _efficient_."

"The only _real_ question," Angrboða concluded, "is why a competent politician – who could not have gone unaware all of this time that any plan to place his puppet on the throne would now end in failure – would _keep _such a dangerous and unpredictable factor around when it was no longer useful. Of course, an open assassination would result in cries for war, but there are plenty of other ways to get rid of people who are too dangerous to live." Somehow, it seemed almost like a hint.

She gazed steadily at each of them in turn and then changed subjects. "That bell is the keeping of time to the rhythm of the universe – it does not surprise me that Asgard has fallen out of that rhythm so much that its people cannot recognise what it is," she stated. "It, in this case, also signals the start of the morning meal – there are a few ground rules you should know before you go to the dining hall."

Volstagg, amazingly, did not perk up at the mention of food. Perhaps the shock of what they had just learned was too much for him to bounce back as quickly as usual.

"Do no_t_ bring your personal problems to the table," Angrboða stated. "Meals are not for making merry, they are a chance for me to meet with my deputies: it's more efficient to do two things at once. All food and drink in the dining hall is self-serve: do not yell, do not smash things and if you want something _go and get it_." There was something in her tone that seemed to suggest the last statement referred to something other than dining etiquette.

Finally, she glanced sideways at Thor and added, "And if you still want to repair your relationship with my lover, I suggest you figure out exactly how you feel before you approach him." Then, with a gracious nod, she swept out of the throne room.

There was a scream from beneath the floor. It was the sound of someone in agony.

Thunder soon began to rumble in the sky outside but – apart from the grim expression the Thunderer wore – it was the only proof of how shaken Thor was by seeing Loki as he really was.

The group of travellers made their way to the dining hall in a tense silence.

Strangely, Loki was standing outside the large – open – doors to the dining hall. He was alternately wringing and staring at his blue fingers. Beyond him, in the dining hall, there were tables lining the walls (and which were covered with aromatic dishes; as well as several strange ones which seemed to be for the serpents, cats and wolves) and Angrboða had already filled her own plate, sat down at the central table and begun to discuss typical business with her deputies.

When Thor approached him Loki switched his attention to the alarmingly perfect reflection on the smooth silver floor. He licked his lips and glanced upward without lifting his head. "I must look terrible right now," he murmured.

Thor paused almost mid-step, clearly not having expected that sort of opening line. Behind him, Fandral tilted his head to the side – apparently weighing the merits of Loki's natural appearance. Volstagg, oddly, seemed to have an almost pitying expression on his face – while Hogun seemed completely unmoved (causing Loki to suspect that he, at least, had known more that he let on for some time) and Sif seemed unable to bring herself to look at the Trickster.

Thunder rumbled outside once more.

Loki swallowed. "Angrboða is right to say that talking will work better than trying to install a political puppet," he said, sounding almost terrified by his own sincerity. "I'm …going to make this easy for you. Xesh says the royal barge will actually be ready in a day's time and so we'll sail to Geheime Asgard tomorrow. Once there I will take you through to the Schaduw Wereld and from there open the veil to the Verborgen Wereld, but," he paused suddenly, swallowing hard again.

Loki looked up properly, locking gazes with Thor, and in a slow, firm – and yet somehow shaky – tone said; "I'm staying with her."

Sif's head snapped upward as she jerked round to stare at him, her eyes blazing with some unspecified emotion. Fandral had, surprisingly, gone very pale and Volstagg practically gibbered. Hogun, however, gave no reaction – a fact which was telling in itself, as it almost seemed to suggest that he had been expecting this. Thunder rumbled in the distance again as Thor's face trembled with what seemed to be barely controlled fury.

"You can say I didn't make it," Loki continued, although he had turned pale periwinkle at the distant rumbling. "As long as you don't give details it's not actually a lie – and I can have someone else show you around the city today if you …if you prefer that I am not present."

Thor opened his mouth as if to speak, although from the Thunderous yet bamboozled expression on his face it was painfully obvious that he did not know what to say …and that pained him deeply.

However, Loki continued with his spiel, nodding toward a pretty Jötunn woman in a pale blue dress, whose long red hair was braided elegantly (with several strings of gems woven through it) and who was in the process of filling her plate at one of the tables. "Járnsaxa offered to be your guide if you prefer a biped," he said, "and while there is no mead or wine, there are plenty of fruit juices if neither scented nor warmed water appeal to you for beverage choice. They …we are warm blooded and omnivorous – like you – so there should be plenty of choices that suit your tastes, even if they are somewhat …foreign."

Thor glared at him. "You think hiding here will make things better?" he exclaimed, nearly spitting the words. "Do you care _nothing _for how people would feel if you did not return?"

"I suspect they would throw a party," Loki replied coolly. "Unless, of course, you refer to my failure to return for punishment, in which case – yes – there might be some upset."

The thunder stopped. Apparently Thor was too gobsmacked to be angry.

"People would morn," Fandral said, daring to interrupt the argument.

"Only until they learned that I was actually a monster," Loki sneered back.

"_Our parents _would morn," Thor said.

A look of anguish momentarily crossed Loki's face. "Don't do that," he replied, clearly shaken. "Don't pretend – liar's not a term which becomes you. Don't try to give me _hope_."

"Why should I not?" Thor rumbled – and he looked about ready to grab Loki, in spite of his appearance, and shake him roughly.

"Because hope _hurts _and I've already had enough of it!" Loki cried, both desperate and furious. Then, in a tone far quieter and far bleaker, he added, "I've already had one parent tell me I was never loved: I really do not want to have to go through that again …and if I manage to convince myself that there is some hope, if I am so good a liar I can convince even myself, then I shall simply be opening myself up to hurt again."

There was a shrill, agonised scream from beneath the floor.

"Xesh, make a note," Angrboða commanded blithely. "The floor needs re-soundproofing at the earliest convenience."

Xesh swallowed her slice of mouse and nodded.

Loki took the opportunity to slip past the thunderous Thunderer and shakily slipped off to get a cup of hot, scented water and a plate for breakfast.

Járnsaxa walked over to them, idly balancing her loaded plate (which also carried her steaming cup) on one hand, and smiled gently. "If you like I could take you around the serving tables," she offered, her tone surprisingly sweet.

Sif glared slightly when she noticed that Járnsaxa was unmistakably enjoying looking Thor over.

The shieldmaiden was obviously not the only one who noticed, for as a wolf padded past them to get its morning meal it dryly inquired, "Really, Járnsaxa, have you no taste?"

"None whatsoever," the red haired Jötunn replied brightly, looking Thor over teasingly once more.

The wolf snorted and headed off so that he would not be overly late to the meeting meal.

The sound of Fárbauti's agonised screams came up from under the floor once more.

Thor swallowed, too hurt and shocked to yell or rage (a state he would admit he had never felt before). He felt like throwing something to watch it break, but somehow was too numb to do so. He nodded, somewhat gracelessly, to the offered guide and allowed her to lead him – and his friends – around the serving tables to pick out their meals.

The array of various choices was quite incredible, although it was with very little actual interest that Thor looked over the wicker baskets of silvery breads with their sweet aroma, the grand platters of fruits and vegetables as colourful as polished gems, the bizarre dairy products such as Zebra milk yogurt (had Thor been in a more inquisitive mood he might have asked what a Zebra was), the large decorative bowls filled with nuts and seeds of strange colours, the small bowls of olive water, the astounding variety of spices, the trays of meats (whatever Zebras were they seemed to be good for many things, as apparently were Snowflake-Fish and Otter) and the more prepared meals.

Volstagg, unsurprisingly, tried some of everything (excluding the meals designed for the wolves, serpents and felines) and, while the others all ate reasonably; choosing only those things which they thought most likely to be palatable, Thor picked at his food restlessly. It was not that it was not pleasant to taste – indeed, he had rarely tasted more delightful foods – nor that the company, both his friends and the people of all species whom sat around the table, was unpleasant; they were quite delightful. It was the sinking realisation that the place was truly beautiful and the people welcoming and kind that put him off his meal.

The idea that Loki was _Laufey's_ son was horrifying, Thor did not pretend otherwise, but they had been brothers for over a thousand years. Yet with the discovery Loki had every reason to be afraid to return to Asgard …and, it seemed, not a single one to leave Angrboða's city. It sickened him to realise that he was, slowly but surely, losing his brother – and worse still, it had not been until the moment he had realised that it might be too late already that he had even been certain that he did not _want _Loki's species to matter …or for his little brother to slip through his fingers and disappear forever. Yet, it seemed, that was exactly what was happening.

After the meal Sif had accepted the offered tour on Thor's behalf and, to his ever growing terror, as they followed Járnsaxa through the winding, glittering, city streets he found more and more reasons for Loki to want to remain. The people seemed to adore his brother unambiguously and Angrboða had made it very clear that she would take Loki completely if they did not cling on to him. The very thought left a knot of utter terror in his stomach.

At the same time, though, there was the more horrifying question of whether Loki was right to fear. Thor did not believe it so – he had always believed that Loki had received constructive criticism rather than blunt approval or disapproval because that had suited him better and could recall no other way in which they had been treated differently by their parents.

It seemed, for the most part, almost like one of their normal rests during adventures – Fandral flirted shamelessly with every pretty woman who crossed his path, Volstagg sampled every new and peculiar dish they came across in spite of having eaten a mountain of food at the first meal, Hogun observed everything thoughtfully and Sif kept a commentary which mainly focused on teasing Fandral and Volstagg for their habits. In some ways it was quite musical and Járnsaxa's sweet chatter as she proudly showed them around the city and indulged their curiosity certainly aided in the metaphor, but Thor could not help feeling unsettled by the lack of Loki's wry, mischievous comments and cautionary observations.

Loki, however, had not accompanied them – preferring instead to go over the plans for an extension to one of the public works with Angrboða and Thor could not help but feel hurt that Loki preferred talk of sewage than the company of his brother and friends.

Worse still, it seemed, had been the moment when they had been walking back from the docks for luncheon when a gargantuan serpent had lifted its shimmering, scaled head from the water (replying to pleasant greetings from the people) transformed into a huge cat and bounded off toward the palace. Upon seeing that the snake-cat was met by a wolf of truly astounding proportions Thor had despaired spending any time with his brother in this strange city. Loki would want to spend time with his children here, just as he always wanted to spend time privately with Sleipnir before and after an adventure (although the pair were often met by Odin in the stables and acted as typical family would – with the doting grandfather trying to sneak sugar cubes to his grandchild without being caught by the mother who did not want his child eating too many sweets).

Lunch, too, had been a painful, tense meal – the queen of Helheim was visiting and although Loki took the time to introduce every member of their party to his three children, the majority of the time was spent watching chilly Hel (who truly did look like her father, for all that her behaviour was akin to her mother's) laugh and argue trade agreements with her parents while her brothers wolfed down their meals and pawed at each other childishly.

The only respite from this, if it could be called such a thing, had been when Jörmungandr had curled up on Thor's lap and absolutely refused to budge. To the Thunderer's shock, the serpent-cat had been quite impossible to lift and openly admitted that he would not budge until he was quite ready, thank you very much.

The realisation which had struck Thor so suddenly also seemed to be gradually coming to his friends. The more often Loki laughed with his secret family: the more often Fandral's smiles fell – and Volstagg frowned more often than he had before; as if he was trying to make up his mind on some difficult choice. Sif continued to avoid looking at Loki, who still bore his blue skin – almost as if he was trying it out to see if he could stand it – and only Hogun appeared unmoved. Thor found it odd that Hogun the Grim was the only one of their number who did not seem to be concerned, but the solemn warrior never did give him the chance to ask. It was as if Hogun believed the matter was something Thor had to resolve on his own.

Thor _did_succeed in making Loki help continue to show them around after luncheon, but Loki had tensed and looked away when Thor had pulled him by the wrist …and he refused both to change back to Ӕsir appearance – which would have been less disturbing, as it would have lessened the reminder of the lie they had been told for so long – and to be drawn into any form of personal conversation. Loki had kept them all busy with interesting facts about the city and the world as he led them through one of the grand museums connected to the palace.

By the time dinner was chimed for, Thor was not certain which was worse: knowing that he was losing Loki (and being unable to enjoy any of the wonders they were shown because each one was like a mocking whisper reminding him that Loki would not return home) or knowing how much happier Loki seemed (and that before this he had not realised that Loki was not as happy as he could be, for he'd had no point of comparison).

After they had cleared the dining table (a very odd experience for Thor and his comrades) there had come time for music and merry-making. This had taken place in a grand ballroom with a large balcony which – to Thor's momentary horror – Loki and Angrboða had danced straight off in time with the ethereal music.

Sif had objected loudly when the sky failed to behave properly and instead rippled like water when danced on.

The sight of the pair, who were spinning and laughing as they moved through the air, dressed in matching white clothes and lit by the moon, suddenly made it much more understandable to the Ӕsir why mortals often used the word 'magical' for sights of extraordinary beauty. It made Thor sick to watch it.

The next song began, sung by a mixture of singers of all species and backed by a downright eclectic group of musicians (the various drums, for instance, were played by a wolf and a pair of snakes, while a large stringed instrument was played artfully by a blue eyed cat whose tail swished in time with the beat and a smaller stringed instrument was played by a young Jötunn man with long white hair).

Loki and Angrboða had returned to the centre of the ballroom floor and continued to dance – this time with pairs of other Jötnar dancing around them to the slightly faster beat – soon eschewing gravity and the confines of the room once more …although this time the rest of the dancers followed them out into the air which they seemed to dance on, skate on and flow through.

Once Loki and Angrboða had ceased to treat gravity like a children's toy and stepped away from the dance floor, Thor roughly grabbed Loki by the arm and dragged him into a nearby alcove.

"I may not always have been the best of brothers," Thor admitted, sounding both pained and furious, "but I do not want to lose you. You can visit this realm each night if you please but you _must come home_."

"What if this has become my home?" Loki countered, pulling out of his grasp.

Although the party was charming and the guest chambers fit for the most decadent and spoiled of kings, that night Thor found he could gain no peaceful sleep. He had never before been in a position where it seemed he _ought_ to have been able to fix something, yet could not do it.


	13. Creatures of the Night

**Disclaimer: **Everything recognisable from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, etc, belongs to Marvel and its affiliates and I am neither them, nor making any money off this. Everything recognisable from the writings of H.P. Lovecraft belongs to… whoever it was who inherited ownership from Lovecraft himself. Again, that is not me and I am not making any money off this.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: Creatures of the Night**

Angrboða had been wise enough to know that they would all be tired after their long journey and thus had bowed out of the party early so that she could walk back to their rooms with them. It had been gracious of her to take the time.

This, Sif suspected, was also the queen's way of taking the time to privately analyse them and their reactions to the events of the day. Before she bid them goodnight, Angrboða had taken the time to remind them that items could be taken out of the Dreamlands only by crossing through the Schaduw Wereld first and that if they wished to take the clothes and other items they had been lent with them they should wait with packing until after the morning meal.

For a moment, as Thor had entered his room it had seemed as if he was about to cry.

Sif, for her part, wasn't sure how to feel. It was not the objects that concerned her – a sunset toned dress was just a dress, a Silverwood hairbrush was just a brush and she had long since realised that the only thing she needed was the hair tie, which Járnsaxa had purchased for her, for she had no other way of keeping her hair out of her eyes for the rest of the journey – it was what they meant.

Taking nothing would mean having nothing to remember Loki by – and _that_ did bother her. It bothered her more than she'd ever expected it could. Yet, at the same time the thought of sitting at a feast in a fine new dress while the Allfather and Allmother sat in heartbroken silence filled her with guilt and dread.

For a long time she sat before the silver mirror and the dresser, staring at the unmoving reflection of the balcony curtains as she did.

Sif and Loki had never gotten along, she wasn't going to pretend otherwise, but he had – in spite of everything – always been a friend.

The curtains twitched thoughtfully.

Sif bit her lip as she stared into the mirror, still in deep thought. She was not the type to lie to herself: Loki's species and parentage bothered her – the parentage especially. On the other hand, like the one moving behind the curtains, it was her reaction – and the reaction of people like her – that frightened the Trickster into refusing to go back.

Sif's eyes narrowed. There was someone on her balcony. It if had made a sound, any sound, while approaching she would have heard it. In this strange world it was alarming to wonder what manner of monster might be able to approach without making a sound.

Sif reached out slowly and pulled a hidden dagger (which she had found earlier) out of the mirror's decorative frame and began to make her way toward the balcony.

If it was something as dangerous as the Nuckelavee had been she was certainly doomed (but would at least die a warrior's death) and if it was not as dangerous as the Nuckelavee _it_ was doomed.

The shieldmaiden slowly reached out to pull the curtain cord with her free hand.

The thing on the balcony had a barbed (or perhaps _flowered_) tendril moving along the bottom of the glass doors the curtains covered – she could see its shadow all too clearly.

Sif paled and tightened her grip on the dagger. She yanked the cord with too much force – a side effect of struggling to stop the tremors in her hands – and the curtains flew sideways.

The balcony was empty.

It was with understandable caution, therefore, that she opened one of the glass doors and moved out onto the balcony – checking, as she did – that it was not hiding above the doors and waiting to pounce upon her.

There was nothing strange about the outside at all, except an odd looking gargoyle perched on the wall end of a balcony situated diagonally above Sif's and one further across. It did not seem to match anything of the architecture and design of the rest of the city.

Thor stood on the balcony which was directly diagonal to that with the strange creature – which Sif did not believe for a moment was anything other than the strange thing which had crept along her own balcony.

The strange thing was black and not unlike a gargoyle in form, from what little Sif could actually see of it.

Thor gave her a curious, and faintly amused, look when he noticed the dagger she was slowly lowering – it seemed that he had not noticed the creature yet. "Could you not sleep?" the prince asked her, his tone indicating that he was torn between amusement and concern.

Sif fully lowered the dagger. "I could ask the same of you," she replied. Then, dryly she added, "Bed not comfortable enough?"

Thor, however, seemed in no mood for sarcasm and jest, for he sighed heavily and leaned upon the balcony railing – staring, as he did so, out at the dark night's sky. "Even the softest of beds could not give me comfort and respite from the terrors that haunt my mind," he replied.

Although the other balcony was not within reach, Sif raised a hand as if she intended to – or even could – lean across and place it comfortingly on his arm.

Thor ran a hand through his golden locks, perhaps unaware of the electricity dancing along his fingertips (which to Sif was a clear sign of his agitation and a reminder that it was not Mjölnir but Thor himself who could control thunder and lightning …and occasionally lose control).

"I thought of dragging him home," the Thunderer admitted after a long pause. When he continued he sounded choked, as if he was one moment away from crying. "He believes we cannot stand him for what he is – not after what he has done – and he has neither the desire nor the intention of ever returning," Thor murmured, voicing what they had all known with painful certainty since Loki had declared that he was going to stay. "It will be as if he was dead," he finished, although the last word was so choked that if Sif hadn't known what he meant she would not have been able to understand it.

Thor paused again, staring down at the courtyard which their balconies overlooked. "In my mind's eye," he said, clearly pained, "I could see the results of trying to keep him from leaving us. We would have to keep him under constant guard, he could not be allowed to sleep – else he would disappear into these Dreamlands and never return, as he now plans – and it would drive him mad."

"Thor," Sif began, sympathetically.

The prince shook his head, blinking back tears. Quietly he said, "I could not shake from my mind the thought of his gaunt face and crazed eyes staring out at me from amid the remains of half eaten guards."

Then he pressed his lips together and stared up at the sky, as if wishing for clouds and storm rather than the silent figures which circled high above.

When Sif caught sight of the circling creatures she knew instantly that the thing which had been on her balcony – the same gargoyle like creature resting on the balcony diagonal to Thor's – and as those in the sky were not hunched over, she could for the first time truly see their horrific forms.

The creatures were black – blacker even than the night's sky through which they flew on their membranous wings – and for all that their slender bodies were the same in basic form as the many bipedal species of the nine realms, they were almost impossibly skeletal.

For Sif the sight of their long, barbed tails was almost a relief – for it was proof that she had seen no creeping vines upon her balcony – and although the inward curved horns upon their heads was a surprise, she quite distinctly recognised the thin, clawed hands that she had seen through the curtains.

The creature perched on the balcony suddenly took flight, swooping silently past their balconies and up to join its dark comrades.

The only sound as it passed, in fact, was the clatter of the dagger which fell from the shieldmaiden's hand at the sight of its head. She was not actually disturbed by the lack of sound, but rather by the blank of the face which was missing from where faces ought to be found.

Thor, astoundingly, did not seem as concerned, but shrugged awkwardly when he caught sight of her wide eyed and somewhat incredulous glare.

"Loki claims," Thor said, with an almost inaudible sigh, "that when he first entered the Dreamlands it was in the fevered dreams of childhood – when he said that I assumed that the terrified babbling while his fever was high was merely normal dreaming and that the times he had slept peacefully he had been, as he said, running about in the Dreamlands and being spoiled by the natives."

Sif's brow furrowed slightly. "Then he spoke of these creatures," she stated, coming to understand what her friend meant. "You recognise them."

"Night-Gaunts, he called them," Thor said. Then, suddenly, he frowned down at the courtyard far below and gestured to Sif to look down.

Several people – who appeared to be members of the palace guard (or what little equivalent seemed to exist in this strange city) – were passing large, dark bags to pairs of the strange creatures. Each pair would then take off and fly out of the city, carrying a bag between them.

As one pair passed somewhat lower, Sif and Thor could see the words "Entrails and Inedibles: Night-Gaunts Only" stitched into the fabric in silvery thread. On the one hand it was a very sensible way, one could assume, of ridding the city of the parts of their livestock which could not be eaten or used, but on the other it was faintly disturbing.

What was far more disturbing, however, was the figure that was dragged out after the bags. Although it was difficult to make out with only the light of the large moon and the torches held by some of the palace staff, it was clear that the person – nude and trembling – had been flayed alive.

Somehow, in spite of everything, Fárbauti had not woken from the Dreamlands whilst being flagpoled. She was, however, obviously no longer bleeding – for there was no trail of bloody footprints to be seen – and although it was a slight strain to see from the high balconies, if one looked sharply it was clear that she had been set on fire (albeit briefly) in order to make her blood coagulate and keep her from bleeding out all over the place. Nevertheless, it seemed that whoever was responsible for cauterizing her entire body had not bothered to be particularly careful.

Thor swallowed tightly. Neither he nor Sif needed to strain their senses to catch the scream Fárbauti gave as the last pair of Night-Gaunts grasped her in their long claws and took flight.

It was not until they turned to watch the last of the creatures flying away that they realised that Angrboða and Loki had been standing on their balcony – the one diagonally above Thor's, on which a Night-Gaunt had earlier been perched – and had watched the whole thing.

When Loki caught sight of them he paled and fled back into his chambers, heedless of the hand his brother had begun to stretch out to him.

Thor gained no peaceful sleep that night, for in his few and scattered moments of sleep he dreamed of dashing over bloody limbs and half-eaten people as he roamed the streets of empty Asgard – forever chasing a figure with long, clawed hands and a green cloak, whom he never could quite catch.

Unbeknownst to him – and to Sif, who was too busy arguing with herself to sleep – Fandral, Hogun and Volstagg were not in their rooms.

* * *

In hindsight, it was entirely Fandral's fault. He was insatiably curious about Loki's home away from home and had wheedled Volstagg into going 'briefly' to explore the palace with him – and Hogun, for his part, had not been fool enough to let the two wander off on their own. The Warriors Three would stick together – even if it was, according to Fandral, just one corridor.

'Just one corridor' had quickly become two, then three, then four and – although there were still people about and the corridors were gently lit – the palace could almost seem to be deserted at times, in spite of the fact that two out of the four citizen species were somewhat nocturnal. The term 'hopelessly lost' would likely soon be more accurate.

Several of the corridors they passed seemed to have enclosing doors that had been left ajar and from the far end of one such corridor there came the faint sound of tinkling music and a faint light which flickered in the distance.

It was down this corridor, with the intention of asking for directions, that Hogun turned – and after exchanging slightly apprehensive looks, Fandral and Volstagg followed.

The corridor was less well lit than the larger corridors they had come from and it was therefore with great difficulty that any of them spotted the faces peering at them from near the walls. It was nearly impossible to see their features, and none of the three intended to take a closer look when they already seemed so unpleasant. Most often it would be gleaming eyes, lit by the distant – pale – light at the corridor's end, which could be seen and nothing else.

The Warriors Three walked a bit closer together than normal, as if by some sort of silent agreement. As they approached the source of light and music the high, vaulted, ceiling of the corridor began to come into view and – blocking a good deal of the light – what appeared to be an easel and canvas became visible. Behind it someone – or something, though that was less likely – hummed along to the high, ethereal and yet almost childlike music.

Hogun coughed, sharply.

After a moment, a young woman with long hair braided and bejewelled in the common fashion amongst citizens stepped out from behind the easel – as she was still blocking the light she was little more than a silhouette and the strings of polished gems in her hair were only revealed by the way the light bounced off them and cast a little rainbow galaxy upon the darker parts of the ceiling and walls, where the main light did not so much reach.

"Hello," the woman said pleasantly. "I'm not disturbing you, am I?"

Volstagg and Hogun glanced at each other.

Fandral took a hesitant step forward. "My Lady," he said. "We are visitors here and have – unfortunately – lost our way back to our rooms. We had hoped that you might be so kind as to give us directions."

The figure tilted her head thoughtfully, and then disappeared behind the easel. After a moment the music – which had seemed disturbingly inappropriate for the situation – ceased and the corridor's lights grew brighter.

They had stumbled across a gallery.

The cruel and disfigured seeming faces which had leered at them from near the walls were indeed cruel and disfigured, but merely paint and canvas hung up for display.

As the woman came around her easel once again she caught the direction of their gazes and shrugged awkwardly. "It's not exactly the best part of the museum for new visitors to stumble across, especially not when people are using it for inspiration and a workplace," she admitted. "This is just one of the horror galleries. If you want the stuff that isn't disturbing you need to go three to the left."

After a pause the woman pushed a few loose strands of her brown hair out of her face and curiously added, "You did know that the palace has the main art gallery and public library in the wings, right?"

The Warriors Three traded surprised expressions. However, it was not the news that the palace was essentially a pair of public buildings with someone important's bedroom in between them that made shocked them. It was the pale peach-tone of the woman's skin.

Hogun frowned at her. "You are not of the Jötnar," he said.

The woman's brow furrowed slightly. "Er, no – I'm not," she replied, and she apparently found the topic somewhat awkward. "I'm human. My name's Aspinwall… well, actually… everyone calls me Aspinwall."

"Oh," Volstagg exclaimed, somewhat interested. "You are a Midgardian dreamer, then?"

The woman, Aspinwall, smiled slightly. "I was," she said with a shrug. "I sort of died. My twin and I were trying to fix up the old Carter estate in Arkham and… sorry, I'm not making much sense am I?"

"Carter…" Fandral murmured. "I think I've heard that name mentioned before."

Volstagg and Hogun, however, did not seem to recognise it.

Aspinwall shrugged, carefully putting her paints away. "Randolph Carter was one of the great dreamers," she replied. "My family are descended from distant cousins of his and inherited the estate." For a moment the woman's eyes flickered to her painting and back to them.

"May I?" Fandral inquired suddenly, gesturing to the easel.

In response the woman idly spun it around.

The image on the canvas was unfinished, but the basic idea of a woman sleeping – no: dead – upon a bed was apparent and significantly less disturbing than the creatures and cruelties than lined the walls of the horror corridor of the gallery.

Aspinwall shrugged. "We decided to take a break between graduation and post-grad studies at Oxford," she said, apparently not considering that the people she was speaking to would not understand what that meant. "It's funny how with all the crazy stuff going on in Arkham it was just a stalker that killed me," the woman added, somewhat sadly. "Of course, I think he was from Innsmouth."

Hogun and Volstagg traded somewhat blank – yet telling – expressions while Fandral listened intently.

"Sorry," the human apologised again. "I babble. You said you were lost?"

"Yes," Hogun said shortly, slightly irked by the admitted babble.

Aspinwall tilted her head thoughtfully for a moment. "Guests of the queen's lover… marble corridor, probably," she mused aloud. Then she tilted her head to signal that they should follow her and began to lead them through a series of concealed passages which did indeed lead right back to where they had started from. She swore they were only there to make the moving of pictures easier.

As the peculiar resident disappeared back into the passageways she had led them through, the Warriors Three traded concerned expressions. It was not comforting to see someone so unconcerned by their sibling being forced to live on without them.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

**To Lita of Jupiter:** Firstly, I'm sorry I didn't reply to this behind one of the earlier chapters – I was editing and posting in between getting things ready for a few viewings of the house (I'm trying to move). I'm glad you've been enjoying the additions and hope the same goes for the above one.

**To ParanoidSchizo91:** …You know, I don't think I've ever had something I've written compared to a chocolate confection before. I'm glad the Putrefaction Pools of the bog freaked you out. To answer your question: Loki uses the phrase "I didn't make it" while explaining that he will not return and that is commonly, in adventures, a euphemism for "died". He also, by when he makes this decision, is doing so because he does not believe his friends will be comfortable with him around – he does not intend to visit; he does not believe he is welcome …and since dying in the Dreamlands without a body in the Verborgen Wereld means not going to Valhalla, Loki has essentially announced that he is – as far as the people of Asgard need be concerned – committing suicide, so Thor is "mopey" because he will never see Loki again and they all know it. Also, oddly, Angrboða just decided to let me know that she's flagpoling people who call her Angie (I think she got sick of it on Norsekink).


	14. Dream Boat

**Disclaimer: **Everything recognisable from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, etc, belongs to Marvel and its affiliates and I am neither them, nor making any money off this. Everything recognisable from the writings of H.P. Lovecraft belongs to… whoever it was who inherited ownership from Lovecraft himself. Again, that is not me and I am not making any money off this.

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: Dream Boat**

On their way down to breakfast the next morning, Sif had suggested – cautiously – that perhaps, especially since there was the matter of his treason, it might be kinder to accept Loki's decision and let him remain behind.

Thor had broken a crystal statuette upon hearing it. He knew, of course, that the selfish part of him wanted Loki to return, but – as he had argued – surely it was not selfish of him to think of how their parents would react.

Amazingly, it had been Volstagg who had put an end to the argument – for, upon noting that Loki was still blue, he had suggested that the Trickster was using his appearance to push their limits and test their, especially Thor's, affection for him …which, the large warrior had continued, meant that on some level Loki himself must still want to return with them.

Thor, never one to back down from a challenge, had thus taken it upon himself to show his brother that – while he still found the appearance of the Jötnar disturbing – he was not going to let the difference in species stand in the way.

Breakfast itself had been a curious matter. Fandral apparently had decided that the Jötunn clan markings and vibrant red eyes of Queen Hel were no detriment to her beauty (and she was beautiful; though her pale white skin contrasted with her black hair in a way that reminded Thor painfully of Loki's normal appearance, even he could not deny that the combination was quite eye-catching) and had flirted shamelessly with her.

It had surprised all of the travellers, save Loki, when Angrboða had mentioned that she would not be sailing with them to Geheime Asgard.

Apparently sensing their bafflement, Fenrir – who stood at equal height to Thor when on all four paws – had idly commented that due to the passage of time per day and night in the Verborgen Wereld, they were all very used to Loki appearing for three or so months and then being gone again for roughly the same amount of time. The only reason the current visit was in any way different from what happened every time was that 'Daddy' had brought guests.

It had fallen, somewhat amazingly, to Sif to stop Loki intervening when Fandral had succeeded in drawing Hel away into one of the nearby alcoves. Of course, stopping Loki had involved commenting that she finally understood why he was such a close friend of Fandral (they both were overly fond of women) which had caused Thor to pause with his cup of scented water half way to his mouth.

Angrboða, however, was apparently completely unbothered and had asked if they had enjoyed meeting Sigyn and 'the boys'. Apparently, as Hogun had later commented, being thirty-six thousand could make one possessive without actually being jealous. It was a strange thought.

Stranger still, the breakfast meeting had descended into a calm, quiet flyting session – in which Thor had suffered the rather dubious honour of having his honour expertly besmirched by a sea serpent posing as a giant cat and Angrboða had successfully wiped the floor with all of them by switching to flyting in Dactylic Hexameter _and _continuing to run her meeting without missing a beat.

Járnsaxa, who was to captain the ship to Asgard, had gently commented that the queen _had _about thirty-five thousand years worth of practice on them.

When the ship had finally been ready to sail – just after luncheon – Angrboða had politely bid them goodbye at the palace gates, which literally were never closed, adding to Thor and Fandral that it had been a pleasure to finally meet them (this, as it happened, just about made Fandral's day) and referred to the others (especially Hogun) as having been 'pleasantly surprising'.

It had been less than an hour after that point that the royal barge had sailed out of the harbour, with the six travellers safely upon it; garbed once more in their own clothes (which, as it happened, had been washed, fixed and polished as necessary). The only real difference, it seemed, was that Loki had a soft, white, fur-lined cape slung over his shoulders and that they carried small satchels with the gifts they had been supposedly 'lent', but actually given (Volstagg had received permission to take a few carefully wrapped breads and other foods in sealed containers, as well, which seemed to all who knew him to be a sign that he would be eating for comfort once Loki was beyond their reach).

The ship, it seemed, was moving quickly toward the horizon …and intended to sail from sea into sky upon reaching it.

Sif had vocally protested that such things were not possible, but Járnsaxa had laughed and replied that such things were only impossible in the Verborgen Wereld.

Thor grasped his brother tightly, although he would call it concern and not alarm, when the ship proceeded to go on and do the impossible. The sky, it seemed, was just as sailable as the sea in the Dreamlands and as they began to exit the atmosphere, it became clear that the same could be said of space.

The ship sailed out among the stars, silent and comet-like, and had it not been for the combination of crystal and ice that formed a protective shell over the deck the travellers would have been poked curiously by the strange, shapeless, black things that lurked amid the aether… though that did not stop the feeling of them grinning and leering as the ship sailed by.

…The fact that Loki described them as 'curious larvae' certainly didn't help.

The brothers sat upon the deck in silence for a good deal of the journey, watching as strange stars were passed, little more than blurs due to their great speed, and listening to the soothing hum of the unseen mechanical engine that ran the grand vessel.

Their friends mostly walked about, taking in the view and asking question of those members of the crew who had the time to answer (this was usually the wolves, as they were on board for protection whereas the serpents and bipeds did most of the actual labour …and the felines appeared to skive on work whenever possible). On several occasions it seemed one or more of them would consider approaching the brothers, perhaps to make their farewell to unmovable Loki, but they always seemed to lose their nerve at the last moment.

"Will you miss us?" Thor asked, finally, sounding terribly defeated, as the ship began to sail along the trunk of the great tree.

Loki's head snapped up and he turned to look at his brother with a surprisingly open and honest expression on his face. "Of course," he replied, sounding both rather pained and painfully hopeful. "You're my brother and my friend. I will not deny that I am sometimes envious and that it has partially led me…" he trailed off, shaking his head. Then, more firmly, he said, "Do not doubt that I love you."

"And our parents?" Thor pressed. "Will you not even say goodbye?"

Loki laughed, bitterly. "It has often been implied that I am a coward for doing _tricks _instead of battle," he replied. "Now, it seems, they were right."

"They were wrong, Loki," Thor said, his tone both firm and hurt. "You are the bravest person I know."

"Then why am I too scared to face them?" Loki countered.

"MOON-BEASTS!" the serpent in the crow's nest cried, with its tail clutching its telescope tightly.

Loki's face drained to pale periwinkle and he launched himself across the deck to stare out into space. Thor followed him, curiously.

In the distance – although rapidly approaching – was another ship… it was made from dark, ugly wood and was on what was unmistakeably a collision course. Suddenly, it was painfully evident to the travellers exactly why an entire battalion of wolves and cats had been assigned to protect the royal barge on its travels.

As Sif and the Warriors Three joined the brothers, Loki turned to them with a peculiarly wide – almost malicious – smile. "Now here is a danger you _can _help fight," he proclaimed amusedly. There was something of falseness to the cheer – as if he was trying to bolster their spirits in spite of a very real danger.

Járnsaxa frowned as she stared out at the approaching vessel and began issuing ordered. "WHEN THEY ARE CLOSE ENOUGH TO RAM, TURN AND OPEN FIRE!" she roared to her crewmen. To Loki, however, she merely tilted her head in the direction of the enemy's masts.

Loki grinned in response and fire began to dance along his fingers. "Help would be appreciated," he told his companions, "but when you see the wolves and cats returning to our vessel do _no__**t **_wait to get back here. Also, avoid going below decks on their vessel – you do not want to wind up being food for their rowers."

As the ship approached all of the warriors tensed. While the royal barge turned sharply so as to be impossible to ram and as the canons began to fire, Sif frowned. "Are those …people on that galley?" she asked, tightening her grip upon her shield and sword.

Amid the strange, gray-white toad-like beasts which bore tentacle snouts where they ought to have had faces, there were a large number of bipeds who seemed _almost _normal.

"If the Men of Leng ever were," Loki replied with deathly sincerity, "they are not anymore. Bipedal cattle would be a better term."

"Why are you so determined to destroy these creatures?" Thor asked, looking with a mixture of disgust and curiosity at what could only be the moon-beasts.

"It is not like with the Jötnar," Loki said sharply. "These creatures bring evil wherever they go and are so unwholesome that even the cruellest and foulest of ghouls will have no dealings with them."

Sif's eyebrow shot up at the mention of ghouls. However, there was no time to debate the matter further as a well aimed javelin from one of the Men of Leng shattered the ice and crystal plating which covered the deck and the enemy was upon them.

Chaos was all around. The many wolves howled and felines snarled as they tore at their enemies, ripping out throats and clawing off limbs as they went (and sometimes it took three or more to dispatch a moon-beast if the creature decided to swell), the serpents bit and strangled victims – trusting the bipeds to handle the ship – and it was amongst the wolves and felines and vicious bites of snakes that the travellers fought.

Thor seemed to have decided to exert all his frustration and fury from the last few days on these new monsters, for he swung Mjölnir with a viciousness that was truly terrifying.

Volstagg had crossed to the enemy ship soon after the barge and the galley had come up side by side and, with the aid of Fandral and with Hogun at their backs, was doing quite a job of taking down the fore-mast.

Sif herself guarded the side of the barge, forcing back any beast (she truly hated the tentacles, although it was not necessarily their fault for the bad association) that dared come too close.

As fire and ice rained callously down on their enemies – and the main masts of the black galley simply disintegrated – from the Trickster's fingers, it suddenly became evident to Sif that the Liesmith had been holding back with his tricks on many of their adventures …almost as if he had wanted to let them have their fun. It was probably due to concern of surviving the battle, or else the knowledge that they would likely never see each other again when they reached Asgard, but Sif decided that she really ought to give him a hug once the fighting was over. Once wouldn't be too terrible, after all.

The battle waged for quite some time, although it was clear that the strange crew of the royal barge were slowly winning, and when the black galley finally began to crack in two from the pressure on and damage to its hull, the lead wolf threw back her head and howled – the signal for all her warriors to return to the barge.

Sif watched in concern, dispatching several Men of Leng as she did, while the Warriors Three fought their way back toward the barge. A flash of lighting lit the deep space as Thor knocked a large number of moon-beasts out of his friends' way and soon both Fandral and Hogun had their feet safely on the royal barge once more.

The black galley cracked, with a horrific lack of sound, in two just as Volstagg reached across to climb back aboard. Unsurprisingly, he slipped and was forced to grasp a hanging rope from the barge desperately to avoid falling back onto the broken galley as the barge began to move away.

It took the combined effort of all five of his friends to pull him safely back aboard and protect him from the javelins thrown by those who remained alive on the ill-omened black galley , but they managed to get him back aboard safely. All the while, though, Fandral had been panting something that sounded distinctly like, "You… have… got… to… loose... some… weight."

When the remains of the black galley were far enough away, Loki launched several last fireballs from his slender hands and, even though the dark ship had only just truly caught fire, it was clear that by the time the royal barge made the return trip there would be nothing left but floating ash and the occasional cruel ruby from the cargo.

Thor grinned at his brother and, for a moment, it seemed that the exhilaration of the battle had been enough for him to forget – just for a little while – that he was soon to lose him brother forever to the strange Dreamlands. Loki smiled sadly back.

To the surprise of everyone, however, Sif suddenly marched up, spun the Trickster around and gave him a tight, but extremely awkward, hug.

"…I think I suddenly realised why they call it the Dreamlands," Volstagg said to Fandral.

Fandral, for his part, nodded vaguely; he was not quite able to take his eyes off the bizarre sight. Hogun merely blinked.

"That won't happen again," Sif said bluntly as she stepped back.

Loki blinked and nodded, glancing at Sif's face, then down slightly and back up at Sif's face – thereby unintentionally proving that he really was more like Fandral than most people gave him credit for.

He evidently saw something more than annoyance in her eyes, though, because – for the first time since the awkward revelation in the throne room – he allowed his appearance to fade back to the pink of the Ӕsir.

For the next hour, as the crystal and ice shield (and it was now obvious that it was as shield) was repaired, the royal barge sailed slowly on toward Geheime Asgard and as the passengers and crew cleaned and fixed what they could (which was a surprisingly large amount), Loki told them of other journeys he had taken through the Dreamlands and of places like the town of Ulthar on Geheime Midgard (a town where no man may kill a cat) and the city Celephaïs – which was created from cloth by its monarch; the human dreamer King Kuranes.

He also mentioned that, as all cats had the ability to go between the three Werelds, if they ever wanted to reach him they could send word with the cats of Queen Frigga (it was at that point that the cleaning and storytelling stopped, because Thor took the opportunity to lasso his brother with some spare rope and pinned him to the deck until he promised to send word often by the cats – and, with Loki being Loki, it took hours for the brothers to reach terms they agreed upon and for Thor to let his little brother sit up …at which point Loki had taken the opportunity to pounce on him in return and tried to tie him to the mast).

The merriment faded, though, as the royal barge approached Geheime Asgard. The travellers had been warned, repeatedly, by Loki that it would be _nothing_l ike the Asgard they knew, but it was still a shock to see it.

There was no Bifrost, nor golden gates at the entrance to the realm proper. While Asgard technically existed – in that there was a realm and vegetation – there was no golden, shining, world.

The only signs that intelligent life had ever been there were a few motley and dilapidated ruins, mostly overgrown by plants, which signified where people had tried to settle in the times when the Ӕsir still knew how to dream.

They had come upon an empty world.


	15. Eldritch

**Disclaimer: **Everything recognisable from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, etc, belongs to Marvel and its affiliates and I am neither them, nor making any money off this. Everything recognisable from the writings of H.P. Lovecraft belongs to… whoever it was who inherited ownership from Lovecraft himself. Again, that is not me and I am not making any money off this.

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen: Eldritch**

Loki, as it happened, was the last to disembark – which involved sliding down a rope onto an empty patch of dirt some mild distance away from the water's edge yet not too close to the jungle, because Járnsaxa refused to sail the ship out of the sky and onto the water – from the royal barge.

"Accounting for Schaduw time differences," the Trickster said before disembarking, "I should be back in an hour at most."

Járnsaxa nodded to him and watched as he slid down the rope – she then smiled and nodded to Fandral as she looked down to see if the Trickster had reached the ground yet. Fandral nodded back in thanks.

Sif looked between them curiously. Volstagg had evidently noticed it; for he winked at her when Loki had his back turned. If it had not been for that, Sif might have put it down to their captain having become another one of Fandral's many 'conquests'.

When Loki was safely on the ground and the rope was pulled back up (something which Sif thought was quite odd if Loki was returning and the place was as uninhabited as it looked) the six travellers began to head toward the thick, jungle like, forest that stood in place of the golden city they remembered. It was a particularly odd thing, as it happened, because Asgard was anything but tropical. Then again, for all that Geheime Jötunheimr had been a place where ice could remain frozen and snow was seen outside the city, it had not been overly cold – so it was entirely possible that weather, like gravity, did not bother to behave itself in the Dreamlands.

Loki was at the head of the group and he was using small bursts of magic to cut through the thick vines and other plants that blocked their way as they marched straight into the jungle. It was, apart from their footsteps, the only sound in that strangely empty world.

Thor frowned as he noticed all of his friends tighten their grip on their weapons more and more as they moved deeper into the jungle – every step taking them further from the sunlight as the vegetation grew thicker above them. Even Loki did not seem entirely happy with their surroundings and had, on several occasions, taken the time to blast away the branches that were to hang above their path.

However, when Volstagg asked him why he bothered, the Trickster merely made a cheeky comment about how monsters didn't like too much sunshine.

It was oddly wind still in the strange and empty Asgard – and that, in combination with the minimal sounds, reminded them all of their journey within the nothingness… except that, with no muffling protector, it was certainly the world itself which was responsible and, therefore, slightly unnerving.

"Loki?" Sif asked, suddenly, after almost an hour of walking through the dense undergrowth.

"Hmm?" the Trickster replied, carefully examining their surroundings as he did. The royal barge was long since out of sight and Loki appeared to be following some unseen map – which he essentially was, as he had mentally kept track of where buildings and rooms in the Schaduw and Verborgen Asgards were as they walked.

"Why can't we return to the normal world yet? We are in Asgard, aren't we?" the shieldmaiden asked sharply, slashing passionately at an irksome and half-scorched vine as she did.

Loki turned to look at her, idly brushing aside a large leaf that was trying to obscure his face. "We need to make sure that we don't land inside a wall when we do – so we need to reach a place where I can be certain that there won't be anything in the way in the Schaduw Wereld. The same will apply to opening the veils for you to shift from the Schaduw Wereld to the Verborgen Wereld," he explained calmly.

The Warriors Three all – quite understandably – appeared somewhat disturbed by the idea of accidentally landing inside something if the wrong location was chosen for the change.

"Oh," Sif replied, sounding somewhat faint.

"Are all the ways between worlds so dangerous?" Thor asked, frowning as they stepped over some broken remains of dull gray wall. The wall itself gained no comment as they passed, for they had already passed many types of broken wall and ruins from long lost settlements.

Loki laughed quietly, blasting aside another large shrub-like plant. "Entering the Geheime Wereld by dreams is, perhaps, safer," he conceded, "but _only _if you have the gift for dreaming."

"The gift?" Fandral asked curiously. "Earlier you spoke of it more as a lost art."

Loki smiled as they began to walk toward the centre of an old group of ruins. "There is an art to it – even those who have the gift can be utterly destroyed by going the wrong way if they are not careful," he said. "It is not like with prophetic dreaming or normal dreaming: entering the Geheime Wereld via dreams requires the ability to dream lucidly, for lack of a better term – for one must go down the Steps of Deep Slumber – _and _to remember as much as possible every time one wakes."

"So it is not a skill one can learn?" Thor inquired, with a note of what sounded peculiarly like pain and disappointment in his voice.

Loki glanced sideways at him. "Occasionally," he said, very warily, "people without the gift for it can learn – but it is dangerous. Mind-breakingly dangerous …and that is doubly so if one does not have a teacher who knows what they are doing."

"Yet it can be taught?" Fandral pressed, looking curiously at him.

Loki pressed his lips together. "Approximately one person in every thousand has the gift," the Trickster finally stated, clearly hesitant to go any further with the subject. "Approximately one person in every ten thousand actually can manage to become _capable _dreamers. The odds of people who do not have the gift succeeding are even lower. If you are thinking of trying to visit me… don't." Loki paused, shaking his head. "I could not …stand it if you were to lose yourselves trying to reach me."

There was a cracking noise in the underbrush.

"That was amazingly sincere of you," Sif commented.

Loki smirked self-depreciatingly. "It's been known to happen," he quipped. "This should do."

"What?" Volstagg asked, surprised by the abrupt change in subject.

"To shift into the Schaduw Wereld," Loki explained. "We can do that here."

Here, as it happened, was in the centre of a somewhat haphazard looking set of ruins – although ruins was perhaps not the right term for it: it seemed almost as if someone had cobbled together a now roofless hut out of blocks stolen from the actual ruins and held it together with little more than desperate hope. It also looked as if someone – someone small – had once used it as a sort of primitive camp.

Thor turned to his brother with a glare.

Loki blinked innocently at him.

Sif, it seemed, also knew what the problem with the scene was, for she arched an eyebrow at the Liesmith and coolly inquired, "Spoiled by the natives first time, were we?"

Loki winced and glanced down, somewhat abashedly. When he next glanced up and spotted the pained, hurt expression Thor was gracing him with, however, he shrugged. "I was only here for a short time before I found my way to one of the portals," he said, clearly trying to make it seem like no big deal. "When I arrived in Dylath-Leen, or – rather – what would become the city of Dylath-Leen, on Midgard I was cared for by the locals."

"But you were just a little boy!" Volstagg exclaimed, gesturing at the makeshift shelter in a manner which made it clear that he was very upset at the thought. "You must have been terrified – especially if you were here long enough to build _that_!"

Loki winced again. "It was rather an urgent matter at the time," he replied vaguely. "That tends to make things go faster." After a pause, one which indicated that his companions clearly did not think that was a good enough answer, Loki added, "I was trying to avoid the Hunting Horrors. Besides, once I got to Dylath-Leen the time was more than made up for. They are no longer quite so friendly as they once were there, but that city was build around the fact that most people who come to the Dreamlands for the first time – no matter the realm they're from – tend to turn up in Dylath-Leen."

In the dark of the deep underbrush, where no light could reach, something moved.

Loki seemed to tense for a moment, but then said, "Regardless of its… history, this is the best and closest place to shift into the Schaduw Wereld. Shall we?"

Thor gave him a look which clearly suggested that Loki should get on with it.

"We all have to be moving," Loki added. Then he sighed, almost fondly exasperated. "Everyone take a single step forward upon the count of three."

The request was one more often put to children than fully grown warriors, so the travellers glanced at each other in faint bemusement.

"One," Loki stated in a tone that made it very clear that he would accept no objections.

The mood in the accidental circle of friends became somewhat more solemn, although Thor frowned because Loki did not actually appear to be _doing_anything.

"Two," Loki continued.

Sif tensed slightly. She was certain that she had heard something growling in the thick, lightless jungle undergrowth behind her.

"Three," Loki stated and – as one – the six travellers stepped forward.

The world seemed to shift, appearing strangely doubled – as if they were in two places at once, but with a gauzy veil hung before both – and then, quite suddenly, they were standing in a dark, low-ceilinged corridor.

Loki smiled. "Welcome to Schaduw Asgard," he told them.

"It's horrid," Sif stated, watching what appeared to be a seriously malformed spider crawl along the opposite wall.

Loki shrugged idly in reply.

"The light here is different than in the other Schaduw Wereld," Fandral commented, curiously.

"It's different in all of them," Loki replied. "This is actually dimmer than the so called death-fire which lights the Underworld of Midgard."

The look Thor gave him at that was one of sheer disbelief.

"Most of the Schaduw Werelds are orderless, lawless place of decay and mayhem," the Trickster explained. "The names their specialties receive tend to match that."

"Suits you just fine then," Volstagg stated teasingly.

Loki smiled slightly. "Some places – like Schaduw Svartalfheim – have been made more organised and have rulers …and better lighting," he admitted. "However, most are like Schaduw Jötunheimr, where one is lucky to find any friendly face and those who are friendly – like Sigyn and the boys – do their best to scrape out a life without having to travel or see others if they don't absolutely have to."

He paused for a moment, then shrugged again and said, "Excluding ghouls and gugs and such, that is. But they thrive on decay."

"Ghouls?" Fandral repeated, sounding somewhat wary.

Loki smiled at him. "You don't have to worry about them here," he said. "With no inhabitants in Geheime Asgard and the Ӕsir habit of burning their dead, the ghouls would have nothing to eat here. They prefer places like Midgard's underworld: where they can easily reach the Verborgen Wereld and there are plenty of graveyards to choose from. Besides, if you can learn the language and are introduced by a non-ghoul who is friend to a ghoul leader they can actually be quite helpful."

Thor looked faintly alarmed by the thought and almost wryly admitted, "I am not certain I want to know how _you _know that."

Loki glanced at his brother, trying to ignore the pit in the bottom of his stomach that came with the reminder that they were almost at 'goodbye', and reassuringly patted his shoulder. "A man called Carter told me," he said. "He was a very talented Midgardian dreamer – but he was middle aged quite a few Verborgen decades ago, so I do not know if he remains among the living."

"Ah!" Fandral exclaimed suddenly, unintentionally startling a few more malformed arachnids. "You have mentioned that name before, I think, in one of your stories."

Loki nodded, curious as to why the dashing warrior found it so interesting, but then his eyes widened a fraction and he said, "You met Aspinwall, then. I am terribly sorry."

"Sorry?" Fandral repeated, baffled.

Loki smiled wryly. "Aspinwall is an ambassador from Celephaïs," he explained, "but even she admits that King Kuranes chose her for the job because she was so annoying that he wanted rid of her."

Then he glanced around at them and said, "We need to decide where you will all be re-entering the Verborgen Wereld."

"Tekeli-li," something called in the distant darkness at the end of the long, low corridor.

Loki paled and spun around to face the direction from which the peculiar noise had come. He looked almost ill.

"Brother?" Thor asked, stepping forward in concern.

Loki licked his lips. "That's not supposed to be here," he said. "Those are supposed to be contained on part of Schaduw Midgard. There shouldn't…"

"Tekeli-li" the call came again, this time definitely sounding closer.

Loki took a step backward, nearly crashing into his brother.

"Let me guess," Volstagg said, long since aware that if _Loki _was alarmed they would probably be utterly terrified. "Run."

Loki nodded. "Take the first corridor on the left."

As one the group, this time without the hesitation which nearly cost them their lives with the Nuckelavee, turned and ran down the low corridor – although they were occasionally forced to stoop – and turned left where commanded.

"Tekeli-li," the unseen horror cried behind them.

"The natural Bifrost to Jötunheimr is in a large hall on the next right!" Loki called as they dashed.

"I thought you said that lead to more of those fungi?" Sif exclaimed, struggling forward as fast as she could.

"Tekeli-li," the thing, still coming closer, called.

"It does!" Loki yelled, although the words were somewhat staccato because he was running so fast.

Sif's expression of pure terror was missed by all in the near blackness of the corridor – which was only lit by the fire glowing on Loki's hands – and she seemed almost ready to turn back and face the unknown creature when they burst into the large hall.

"Now what?" Fandral cried as the creature's cry echoed down the corridor once more.

Loki dashed madly over to a wall – which, apart from its awkward location as the fifth wall in an otherwise square room, appeared to be no different from any other wall – and began drawing runes with his glowing hands around a large space.

"LOKI!" Thor yelled.

"Tekeli-li," the creature called, still moving closer.

"Climb the walls," Loki ordered.

"What?" Sif exclaimed, staring at him as if he were quite mad.

"CLIMB THE WALLS!" Loki roared, spinning to face her.

It was with a great many misgivings that the other five began hoisting themselves up the cracked, broken statues and scrambling into the high vaulted ceiling.

It seemed that with every step they climbed higher the creature came closer.

Loki was still drawing runes around the large space when the first signs of movement appeared in the doorway.

"LOKI!" Thor called – and it was only Sif's strong grip that stopped him going down for his brother.

Loki glanced up, surprisingly calm, and pressed a finger to his lips – signalling silence – and then, in a moment, he appeared in the rafters with them …although he had left a simple illusion of himself in front of the strange set of runes which he had drawn on the wall.

When he was certain the other five were all watching him, he let the fire on his hands disappear and they were left in almost perfect blackness.

The thing which entered the room was almost indescribable. It was vast, that much could be seen from its faint self-luminance and the greenish light it produced seemed to suggest a shapeless mass of what might have been protoplasmic bubbles. It slithered slowly toward the illusion of Loki, leaving a trail of cleaned floor as it passed.

If one looked closely, which none of the travellers seemed inclined to do, one could faintly see many eyes forming, disappearing and apparently floating on the bubbling mass as it moved ever closer – with alarming speed – to the illusion, which wore an expression of utter, paralysing terror on its face.

When the creature was practically upon it, the illusion took a step backward – into the wall – and the runes began to glow. The tar-like creature let out an apparently confused cry of "Tekeli-li" and began to draw back, but the wall between the runes had become – in an instant – a glowing, massive, vortex and the thing was slowly sucked in.

After a few moments an outraged cry of "Tekeli-li" was heard in the distance and Loki dropped down to the floor and began to wipe away the runes as quickly as he could. The fire he had returned to his hands shone on his gaunt and almost desperate face.

Finally, however, the last of the runes was gone and the vortex which had sucked the creature in would clearly not return.

When the other five had finally managed to reach the ground – and the clearly shaken Trickster – Thor grabbed his brother in a very tight, almost bone-cracking, hug and fiercely whispered, "Don't you _ever _do something that stupid again!"

Although it was somewhat muffled by Thor's shoulder, all of them heard Loki's irritated reply of, "It was actually rather clever, I thought."

"That thing," Thor began, hugging Loki somewhat tighter – if such a thing was possible – and clearly struggling to find the right words.

"Shoggoth," Loki cut in helpfully. "It's called a Shoggoth."

"What _did _you do to it?" Sif asked, although she had the feeling she already knew.

Loki smiled smugly. "I may have trapped it in the natural Bifrost between Schaduw Asgard and Schaduw Jötunheimr," he replied. "If it does get out it'll probably be on the other end – where it will have the fungi to contend with and if it manages to get beyond them then I _know _Sigyn will be able to dispatch it." Then he paused as a bizarre expression that was at once apprehensive, amused and disturbed graced his too thin features. "Of course," he said, raising one eyebrow thoughtfully, "it's likely that the next time I visit them, Vali and Narvi will be determined to get me to help them play with the 'big pet Shoggy'".

"Right," Fandral said, sounding rather faint. "Shall we get on with going home before anything else jumps out at us?"

Loki turned sharply, gave him an odd, searching look, then – after a long pause – stepped forward with an almost dangerous expression on his face (something which was highlighted by the fact that the only light source was _beneath _his face) and silkily inquired, "Fandral, is the ship still going to be there when I get back?"

Fandral winced. It was all the answer Loki needed.

"How – no," the Trickster began. After a moment he continued, his voice thick with betrayal and pain, "You weren't flirting with my daughter when you pulled her into that alcove – you were talking her into talking her mother into commanding the captain to ignore my order to wait and leave me stranded so that I would have to return with you. Did you really think that taking away just one of my potential methods back was going to make me go with you? I would have thought you wiser than that."

Volstagg placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "We had to try," he said. "The Queen herself agreed that you should reconsider – and she's thirty-six thousand years old, I'll wager she knows something about coming to regret lost opportunities."

Loki examined the stunned expression of Sif, who had suddenly realised what the nods and winks earlier had been about, and the quiet hurt on Thor's.

The Trickster closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded sharply to himself and said, "This is as good – and safe – a place as any for you to go back home. _I_shall take the Asgard-Vanaheim portal once you're all through and from there return to where I may argue with Angrboða."

The pained expression on Thor's face increased, but he braced himself and pulled his brother into one last hug in a resigned – yet _almost _accepting – manner. "Send word often," the Thunderer commanded, at a loss for what else to say.

Loki hugged tightly back and murmured, "I shall. I promise."

Fandral was next, reaching out hesitantly to squeeze his friend's shoulder. "You will always be a dear friend to me," the dashing warrior stated. "I did not want to lose you."

Loki smiled and patted his hand gently.

Volstagg patted his back awkwardly and Sif gave him a surprisingly respectful nod.

Finally, determined to make the experience as quick and painless as possible, Loki turned and began moving his hands in what appeared to be thin air. Slowly a gauzy film began to appear – just large enough for one person at a time to travel through – and on the other side the bright, shining gold of Verborgen Asgard could be seen.

When Loki was finished casting he tilted his head toward the lifted veil in a gesture that clearly meant 'go on because I do not think I can find the right words for another goodbye'. It was an extremely descriptive gesture.

Thor apparently also could not stand to make the moment last any longer than he had to, for he nodded – unaware of the tears on his face – to his brother and stepped back into the world he had always known.

Sif followed next, apparently unwilling to look back at the Trickster and Volstagg and the reluctant Fandral followed her.

Loki sighed, feeling far sadder than he had expected, and began to prepare to close the veil once more.

Then, after a moment, he frowned – his actions all halting abruptly. There was something missing.

Behind him, Hogun lunged.


	16. Of Consequence

**Disclaimer: **Everything recognisable from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, etc, belongs to Marvel and its affiliates and I am neither them, nor making any money off this. Everything recognisable from the writings of H.P. Lovecraft belongs to… whoever it was who inherited ownership from Lovecraft himself. Again, that is not me and I am not making any money off this.

**Edit:** I normally wouldn't edit a story to reply to an anonymous review, because it can confuse readers, but Ka brought up a good point I figured I ought to reply to. Gramatically speaking, in Dutch that is, I did not correctly pluralise the worlds taken from that language (check Ka's eloquent review if you want more depth on that).

I did that on purpose, as a subtle way of showing that while the original words were Dutch (and the rough pronounciation guide is, to my knowledge, as accurate as possible to the part of Holland my Mum grew up in... but without using IPA it's really hard to show it for English speakers to get right) the language they had been adopted into was not. Loan words do often get grammatically muddled once they are adopted. Thanks to Ka for making me realise I ought to have mentioned that.

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen: Of Consequence**

A mere day before the grand throne room had been a place filled with joy and anticipation. It was still filled with anticipation, yet this time there was no joy accompanying it.

Queen Frigga sat on the throne, weeping silently as one of her cats pawed curiously at her unwashed, tangled hair. It was a very young cat, barely large enough for a toddler to ride. The presence, however, of the young feline merely furthered the despair of the Aesir queen, who wept bitterly for the loss of her own children. Near Frigga's feet, seated on the floor with her own sniffling children, loyal Gná wept for her lost husband.

Odin Allfather, by contrast, was several steps away from the throne and arguing fiercely with several of his advisors.

"We still have no _proof _that they are dead!" Freyja, the only woman in the group, exclaimed – clearly irritated.

"My Lady," Bragi replied; his voice low and as soothing as it could be given the circumstances, "if neither Heimdall nor the Allfather has been able to see them since the treacherous cliffs of Jötunheimr gave out beneath them, what hope can there be?"

"I think Iðunn has hit you on the head too many times with her apples whilst you have your domestic arguments," Freyja snapped, although she could not but deny that the poet spoke sense.

Behind them, Frigga gave a choked sob and waved away the cat that was pawing at her hair. It was undaunted by this.

"If we are to attack we must strike soon and strike hard," Víðarr cut in, addressing the Allfather directly. "If they are to pay for what they have done, let them not creep back toward power again and cause more pain the next time. This time we finish them for good, they have gotten away with too many crimes too lightly!"

Forseti, son of bright Baldr, sighed and put his head in his hands. Although his reply was somewhat muffled, the words "Surely we have done _them _more wrong than they us," were clearly audible.

Týr, who stood by Víðarr's side, snorted and waved his hand to dismiss the comment of just Forseti. "We were attacked and treaty violated – what wrong is there in seeking to protect by battle against those who have not the _honour_to keep their word? Word has been tried and it has failed!"

"War has also tried and failed," Freyja argued.

"Why do we bother to fight amongst ourselves?" inquired Ullr sharply. "_Laufey_ has declared war for the actions of the princes and their comrades. Whether our people were justified in breaking a treaty which was already broken is _immaterial_."

"Ullr is right," Bragi said. "Laufey swears that there will be war for the attack of Odin's sons and swears that even if he _did_hold them prisoner – and they are not visible, so it cannot be – he would still make war, yet he would also swear that we have no grievance against him and his because they are not dead nor held prisoner. There is no point arguing who is in the right anymore, if he will not hear of peace."

"Fárbauti seemed to think she could talk him out of it," Forseti murmured, thoughtfully. "She seemed willing to avoid further bloodshed."

"Fárbauti has not heart," Odin muttered darkly. "She cares not if others suffer so long as she has what she wants."

There was a distinct pause as his advisors glanced cautiously at him, surprised.

"The only question now," Ullr stated, nodding to the map of Jötunheimr – old, but updated by the knowledge gain by the watchful eyes of Odin and Heimdall – which had been spread across the floor and around which the king and his advisors stood, "is how we act now that we are at war."

"How can we even consider going to war when we do not _know _where the breach in our defences is?" Bragi exclaimed, frustrated.

"We could turn the Bifrost on them," Víðarr suggested.

This was met with horrified objections on all sides. The reason for the refusal, however, ranged from it not being right to destroy an entire species to that it was dishonourable and to that it might potentially damage the bridge. Ullr was the harshest in his reproach, other than the glare from Odin's eye, and for this Víðarr turned on him.

"I would have thought, friend, Ullr," said Víðarr the vengeful, "that as you were so fond of your tutor Lady Sif that you teasingly called her 'mother' you would at least care to avenger her."

"If…" Týr said hesitantly, "if we were to only turn the Bifrost on them for a moment – a moment longer than normal – and to position it where there were no settlements… could we not, perhaps, frighten Laufey into backing down?"

"_Where_ is your _honour_?" exclaimed Freyja... and in that moment more than one of her fellow advisors were very glad that the map was so large that they were all at least two arm's lengths apart.

Before Týr could do more than to open his mouth to answer this, the air above the large map seemed to take on a gauzy form. Several things happened in quick succession.

Thor stepped out, onto the map, and jerked backward in slight surprise at finding himself face to face with the so far silent Baldr. Týr reached for his sword. Freyja raised the staff she had been pointing with, threateningly. Huginn and Muninn, the king's ravens, cawed indignantly. Sif appeared almost directly behind Thor and – for he had stepped backward – crashed into him. Baldr hit the golden floor with a thud. Volstagg appeared out of the gauzy air. Bragi gaped in amazement. Gná gave a cry of relief. Sif, with her feet knocked out from under her by two other pairs, crashed on top of Thor, who lay on Baldr. Volstagg tripped over the scrunched up map, which had been knocked askew by Sif's slipping, and fell sideways as he struggled to compensate. Víðarr stumbled sideways to avoid him and knocked over Bragi. Freyja lowered her pointer in bafflement. Fandral stepped out of the gauzy air and was grasped by Volstagg as he went down. Týr let go of his sword. Forseti scrambled backward to avoid having his feet knocked out from under him by Fandral as the dashing warrior slid to a stop in front of Ullr. A blur of white, black, blue and green shot out of the gauzy air and crashed in front of Odin. Someone groaned. The gauzy appearance faded from the air. There was a silence.

"GET OFF ME!" Loki roared from beneath Hogun, who had him pinned to the floor.

Odin looked down at the space which, up until a moment ago, had been covered by the part of the map where the Mímisbrunnr had been depicted.

"No," Hogun replied quite calmly, apparently unaware that he was one step away from sitting on the Allfather's toes.

Loki seemed, for a moment, as if he was going to argue, but suddenly sighed and dropped his head back onto the floor with an unpleasant 'thunk'. "Oh, Norns," he moaned in a somehow long-suffering tone of dismay at the realisation, "it was _you_."

Hogun looked down at him calmly as the others began to untangle themselves and scramble to their feet.

"You had Fandral talk Hel into ordering the boat to leave – you had Volstagg distract me so I'd forget you hadn't gone through yet," Loki groused, still pinned to the floor by the weight of the grim warrior sitting on him. "Do you care _nothing _for the wishes of a friend?"

"I care more to stop a friend from making a mistake he will forever regret," Hogun replied.

Loki laughed bleakly, unaware of Frigga staggering to her feet and staring at the lot of them in shock and amazement, and bitterly asked, "What regret would I have for avoiding pain?"

Hogun pulled him up slightly, unconcerned by the baffled audience and slammed him back down against the floor. "There is only one pessimist among our group of friends," he said so fiercely that he might as well have hissed it, "and that man is not me. You have to try."

"Why?" Loki inquired.

As Thor successfully removed himself from the knot of Asgard's finest (most of whom were still on the floor), Frigga gave a sharp cry and – all concern for appearances and dignity forgotten – ran to embrace the golden son she had thought dead.

"Because you already have 'no'," Hogun stated sharply, "and you will never know whether you could have had 'yes' unless you _try_."

"And if I get 'no' again?" Loki asked, staring dully up at his serious friend.

"Then you will have certainty," Hogun replied, "and I will not stand in your way again – but no wise leader keeps a tool when it has become a liability, so I do not think that will be so."

Loki swallowed and nodded hesitantly.

Volstagg, now also standing, let out a laugh of pure relief and pulled Hogun off Loki and wrapped the disgruntled and serious man in a tight hug. Hogun looked blankly out from the embrace, apparently unruffled. However, the larger warrior did soon release him in favour of being enthusiastically pounced upon by Gná and the children.

Huginn and Muninn flew down from the throne, past Thor as he hugged Frigga tightly, and sat down on either side of Loki's head. Loki, however, was apparently unaware of this – for he had just realised that he was staring directly up into the face of the Allfather, who was (in turn) staring down at him with an unreadable expression.

Muninn hunkered down and made a soft noise by Loki's ear, pulling up a memory in his mind which was so old that he had long forgotten it.

_The strange thing about Muninn and Huninn when they decided not to speak aloud was that one often wound up watching one's memories from a third person perspective – such as Loki did while he stared down at his infant self as he wriggled in Odin's arms._

_Loki leaned down slightly so that he could see both his infant self and Odin's face, faintly aware that they seemed to be in Heimdall's observatory and that Frigga seemed to be approaching from the direction of Asgard, though they seemed somehow younger._

_To Loki's shock, the memory Odin carefully sliced the tip of his index finger with a small knife and placed the slightly bleeding tip in the mouth of the infant Loki. The infant sniffled slightly and reached out with his two tiny hands to grasp the – comparatively huge – finger as if it were a bottle._

_"There, now," Odin of the memory murmured. "Hush, little one. We are family now."_

_Loki the infant did indeed seem to settle in his father's arms as Frigga knelt beside the sitting king and reached out gently to take the baby, smiling widely as she did._

_**Blood adoption ...but he would not go that far for a tool... Those birds know everything. Why do those birds know everything**__, Loki thought dazedly as the world began to spin and – slowly – came back into focus._

Odin looked down at Loki and Loki looked up at Odin. After a moment, Loki reached out and accepted the slightly wrinkled hand which had been extended to pull him up. To his surprise, however, instead of merely being helping him off the floor Odin pulled him further so that he was held tightly against his adoptive father. The elder man seemed to tremble slightly from some unexpressed emotion.

When the Allfather pulled away, however, his face was stern.

"How long has it been?" Loki asked.

"How?" Frigga asked, unable to find words to complete the sentence, although it was clear – as she stared at her husband and younger son from the embrace of her eldest – that she was not merely repeating Loki's words.

"Loki has long since worked out alternative routes between worlds," Sif said, although there was no bite to her tone. "However, with the Bifrost unavailable to us he had to lead us through those ways to return and we have been repeatedly told that time there works differently."

"We could also do with a rest and a chance to bathe before we do any further explaining," Fandral added, staring in befuddlement and a particularly large cobweb which had somehow managed to attach itself to his sleeve and take a significant amount of dust with it.

Freyja barely repressed a snort at that. It was certainly not her most dignified moment, but then no one else in the room had managed to preserve that much dignity either.

Frigga took one better look at the state her sons and their friends were in and nodded decisively, apparently ready to start ushering them out the door – as soon, at least, as she managed to prise her younger son from her husband's grasp so that she could reassure herself that both boys were home alive and well …especially as Loki appeared far thinner than when she had last seen him.

Loki, however, had managed to take a brief look at the parts of the map which had not been completely ripped or crumpled by their arrival. He frowned and, almost hesitantly, said, "If Laufey is calling for war and threatening to use the breach in our defences he is bluffing." The Trickster swallowed, aware that all eyes were upon him, but continued, "I can explain more later, but I know for certain that they cannot attack that way, so there can be no war if you do not go to them. It is a bluff."

There was something very serious in Odin's expression as he looked down at his son's face, but it was not so harsh and unforgiving that Loki felt, as he allowed himself to be walked away from the throne room for the promised chance to bathe before the long explanation to come, that perhaps things were not so unsalvageable and terrible as he had feared.

As the group of travellers went their separate ways to their chambers, Loki – now held tightly by his mother – nodded slightly to Hogun, both faint annoyance and great thanks clear in his expression.

Unnoticed by all as they went their separate ways, the corner of Hogun's mouth tilted slightly upward. The great tree, he was certain, would have peace. The meal over which they would tell of their adventure… not so much.

* * *

_**A/N: **_

**To Lita of Jupiter:** I'm glad you liked them – although I'm sorry to say, as you'll have noticed, this final chapter was pretty much the same last time. Generally speaking, it is the truly eccentric who have the gift for dreaming, if you look at the characters written by Lovecraft, and canonically Carter was a distant cousin of the Mr. Aspinwall who would here be the great-grandfather, roughly, of the Aspinwall we see.


End file.
